Come Away to the Water, Episode 2
by SaintAugustana
Summary: Adaptation of Telltale's The Walking Dead Season 2 with an OC thrown in to join Clementine on her journey. But Scout, a gifted young tracker with a old cynic's mind, has a dark past of her own, and when the group comes face-to-face with William Carver, she'll have to choose a path. [Warnings for possible violence/corporal punishment in later episodes.]
1. Pete

**Episode 2, Chapter 1 - Pete**

_Run, Scout!_

I had dropped the spear. When? My hands were empty. _Scout!_ The pines seemed to reach out to me with their needle-like limbs, catching me once across the face and making me gasp. _Pete! _I ducked a walker too late, went flying to the earth. Desperate hands caught me beneath the arms and hauled me up, throwing me forward. I landed on something cold and hard. Flat, tempered steel. _Pete!_

The doors of the truck slammed shut.

For hours Pete and I languished. The sun began to set; I watched the rays recede across the floor through the truck's tiny windows, thankfully too high for the walkers to reach. They pounded incessantly upon the sides, their moans mere white noise. They couldn't get to us. But I was in the cage with a monster.

Pete. For all that time he said nothing, just breathed, adjusted his leg, breathed. Then the breathing became slower, labored. He lost the color in his face and then his eyes began to fade. I stared at his mangled ankle from across the cargo hold, clutching my knees to my chest.

"Go on..." he muttered, just barely making a sound. "What?"

I lowered my legs until I sat cross-legged, cradling my bad arm and staring at him. I knew _what_. He knew _what_. Saying it wouldn't have helped anything. I thought, well, I would have beat feet a long time ago if not for the walkers outside. But then, I could have swung that hours ago. Not now. Why hadn't I gone?

Pete craned his neck upward robotically. I followed his eyeline to a shelf, where a hacksaw lay haphazard.

"Hand me that saw," he whispered hoarsely.

"It won't work," I replied, unmoving. Pete stared, eyes blazing with pain, and I had to look away.

"Ah, fuck," he sighed, slumping forward. "I couldn't cut my own damn leg off, anyway..."

Ignoring my frazzled mind, which was rampantly yelling _time bomb time bomb time bomb_, I stood. "Lemme look around. See if there's anything that can help." I turned to the cabin area, taking a seat on the driver's side and checking out the ignition. No keys.

"Check the sun flap," Pete murmured. I obeyed, pulling it down. Some loose papers, a set of golden keys, and a matchbook fell to the floorboards, some landing atop a half-crushed cardboard box. I took the keys into my palm, looking again at the ignition and shaking my head. Pointless. The truck was probably out of gas and revving the engine would only draw unwanted attention. It wasn't even the walkers I was concerned about, really. The guys who shot up the riverbed, though, they could still be out there. I grabbed the matches, swept the papers aside and ripped the tape back.

"What's in there?"

I couldn't help the grin, withdrawing a carton of cigarettes. The box was full of them.

"Oh, man..." If Pete could have perked up, that would have been his moment to. "Gimme one of those."

I peeled back the shrink-wrap and popped the carton open, ignoring my own salivation. I hadn't had a cigarette in ages. I knelt next to Pete, setting one between his lips and igniting it with one of the matches. His pupils were gray against the flame's glow.

Pete coughed as the smoke filled his lungs. "Camels," he muttered. "That tastes about as bad as it smells."

I scoffed, humoring him. Cigarettes were cigarettes. I took a seat, withdrawing one for myself and lighting it.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Pete tried to sound stern, but his veracity was fading fast, along with everything else. I took a long drag, turning my head to let the smoke free. He shook his head. "World's gone to shit and you're gonna die of black lung."

"Well, if you gotta die of something."

Despite everything, I got Pete to laugh.


	2. Two of Us

**Chapter 2 – Two of Us**

Night began to fall without prelude. Trapped inside the truck was like being in a time warp. Nothing changed but the light of the sun slowly disappearing – the walkers continued to pound the sides of the cargo area, continued to moan in the same low pitch that had become my eternal background music. Pete fell asleep under my watch and I pressed my sixth cigarette into the bed of the truck until the ash stopped smoldering.

Time to move.

I stood, heading back to the cabin and snatching up a carton of cigarettes. Twelve packs. I could make that last. I shoved the carton into my sling.

"Nnnggg..." My head whipped around. Pete stirred. I breathed out slowly, tiptoeing back to where he lay and grabbing the hack saw from the shelf. Pete writhed weakly, his back to me.

"Pete?" I whispered testily.

Slowly, Pete began to rise, pressing his palms into the ground and straightening his back against the wall. Even then, in that short amount of time, it looked like he had lost ten pounds. He turned to me, his head lolling against his shoulders. "Scout..."

I lowered the saw.

"Scout... I don't want to die."

"What does it feel like?" I asked, and never knowing where the question came from.

"Feels like I'm ten pounds of beans in a five pound bag."

I swallowed.

"Scout..."

"Yeah."

"You gotta... you gotta take care of Nick. He's a good boy. Just needs somebody to watch out for him." Pete coughed heavily, and I saw blood in his palms.

"I can't promise anything," I replied truthfully.

Pete chortled weakly, for the last time. "Who can in this world?" He looked up at me, his eyes a plaster-like blue, two beacons in the darkness that called me down a dangerous road. "You gotta have a role, Scout." And he turned away, coughing again. The back doors of the truck creaked. They were beginning to give.

"Help me up."

"Pete-"

"C'mon, goddammit."

The walkers pounded. I recklessly abandoned the caution that had kept me alive as long as it had and threw my good arm underneath Pete's shoulder, hauling him to his feet. He swayed, bracing himself against the walls of the truck and collapsing into the driver's seat.

"Give me the keys," he breathed, lifting his hands to the wheel. I looked down at them, slick in my sweaty palm.

"Pete, tell me about Carver."

He turned to me. The sun was setting, casting its last obstinate beams of orange across the dashboard, making nothing visible but the motes of dust swirling around the cabin. Pete was a shadow against them, a singular void in space.


	3. Shed

**Chapter 3 - Shed**

It was dark by the time I reached the riverbed again. I burst through the trees and doubled over to catch my breath. The air was still, and if not for the persistent moonlight, pitch black. Collecting myself, I hurried to the bank, leaping across some submerged boulders to the middle of the river.

Something moaned. I ducked into some reeds, squinting against the shadows. The man from before, the one who stole Clem's backpack, had stirred from his final resting place. The walker got to its feet, cocking its head, looking for me. I steadied my breathing, feeling around the dirt until my fingers closed around a rock. My bad arm was coming free of the sling and throbbed around the stitches. I hissed quietly, cursing. _Fuck it. _I reached up, pulling the sling free of my shoulder and letting it fall to the ground. I flexed my arm. It hurt like a bitch, but I needed it. I dug the rock free from the loamy earth and held it to my chest. It was smooth, probably about the size of a football. It would do. I wasn't leaving those cigarettes, though. I shoved the carton into my jacket.

Slowly I rose, creeping up behind the walker. It caught my scent and turned, spitting in my direction. I ducked, raising my leg and kicking it in the back of the knee. As it crumpled, I leapt upon its back and smashed the rock into its skull. Again. Again. And one last one for good measure. Blood spattered my face, seeped through its skull and onto my hands.

I scrambled off the body as if burned, the adrenaline coursing through my veins. I rolled the walker over and lifted its shirt, feeling around the pockets of its jeans and waistband, withdrawing a large buck knife. I stood, taking a few steps back. The trees shifted in a sudden breeze and I could smell death everywhere. But something else, too. Something living.

I knelt in the dirt, tracing the mottled footprints from our earlier escapade.

I could almost hear Clem's voice as I followed her ghost across the water. I remembered the splash from when she tripped there, trying to follow Nick. I hopped to the opposite bank and saw the path back to the cabin, clear and inviting. And then I saw her tracks again, leading back into their side of the woods.

I latched the sheath of the knife to my waistband and headed for the woods.

When I found the shed, it was overrun with walkers. I took a knee in the grass a few yards away, watching them. What a horrible hiding place. The structure was built into the side of a knoll, so even the roof and windows were accessible from ground level. At least it was made of stone and not wood. If Clem was in there, she was safe. I decided the best thing to do was wait, so I scrambled painfully into a tree and watched.

I didn't mean to drift off. These days sleep found you whenever it could and it was almost always impossible to say no. I think most people welcomed it, because it brought with it the promise that maybe you'd die while dreaming whatever it is you dreamed about, and there was no death more pleasant than that anymore.

But still, I awoke. I awoke to the sound of glass breaking, every few seconds, like clockwork. It couldn't be Clem. She wasn't stupid. I rolled over on the branch holding me, peering down at the shed. The walkers were fewer now, bored with pounding the door and now ambling in circles around the knoll. I crept down from the tree, landing softly in the grass and withdrawing my knife. Giving the walkers a wide berth, I snuck to the shed's far side, and knelt again in the brush. I could see into the window. It was pitch dark.

Crickets sung obliviously, almost masking the sound of a raspy cough. _Clem_. Shit. I felt around the ground, found a pebble. I reached back, took aim, and threw it at the window. It bounced weakly against the glass. But it did the trick. I watched as Clem scrambled up, peering out into the darkness. I waved from the bushes. She raised an open hand. _Wait_.

She disappeared, and after a few seconds, the wooden doors creaked. I crept back around to the front. Clem stared at me from the crack in the doors and gestured to the walkers. I hurried forward softly, ducking behind a boulder, out of their view. She nodded and hunched over, tiptoeing toward me. "Nick's in there," she whispered.

Just then, a walker stepped out from behind the shed's other side and spotted her, raising its arms. Clem gasped and broke into a run. "Follow me!" she rasped. "I know where the cabin is!"

I didn't need more persuading than that. We ran.


	4. Back at the Cabin

**Chapter 4 – Back at the Cabin**

It was morning by the time we reached the cabin, a morning so similar to yesterday's it was almost as if none of the night's events had even come to pass. A nightmare that would disappear as soon as we opened the door.

Carlos and Rebecca were in the kitchen when we came in, speaking in hushed tones. I kicked the door shut behind us, my head burning and all the wind gone right out of me. As the adrenaline began to wear off my shoulder reminded me of its injury and pain shot through my abdomen. Carlos stood first.

"Clementine! Scout... are you alright?"

I glared at him, relinquishing my grip on my shoulder, and nodded.

"Luke's not with you?" Carlos stared at the door. Rebecca got to her feet, her chair scraping against the wood floor.

"Where's Alvin?" She demanded, clearly distraught.

"How the hell should we know?" I coughed.

"What happened?" Carlos advanced. "It's been hours... where_ are_ they?"

"We got attacked," Clem found her voice.

"By who?" Rebecca cried.

"Walkers," I answered quickly, my eyes narrowing.

"Jesus..."

"We got split up at the river," Clem continued. "I was with Nick but... Scout..." She looked at me and I realized I hadn't exactly had the chance to tell her what had happened with Pete. Or what he had told me about _Carver_. Carlos and Rebecca turned to me.

"Pete and I were trapped in the woods. He was bitten, but he helped me escape." I hesitated, looking down at my bloody hands. "If he's not dead now, he will be soon."

"My god..." Carlos whispered.

"Where were you?" Rebecca pushed toward me. "Where were you _exactly?_"

"By the stream," Clem defended, stepping in front of me. A rare show of boldness – how she knew I needed it was beyond me. I was in pain and my head pounded. Even Rebecca, coward that she was, was more than too much for me now.

"We gotta go," she turned to Carlos.

"Just hold on a minute-"  
>"My husband is still OUT THERE! Get the guns!"<p>

Carlos sighed, shaking his head but hurrying to obey.

"Luke and Alvin went out looking for you," Rebecca muttered. "I _told_ them not to go... dammit, Luke."

Carlos returned, handing Rebecca a rifle and holding one of his own in his other hand. Rebecca wrenched the back door open and hurried through. Carlos paused, turning back to us. "Clementine... can... can you please watch Sarah?"

I wasn't by any means offended that he asked her and not me. Babysitting detail for a girl like Sarah just sounded like trouble. Besides that, Sarah was older than us. Though I suppose it didn't matter in a world like this. Either you grew up or you didn't. She didn't.

"She's upstairs. Just distract her, and don't tell her _anything_!"

"We'll take care of her. You can trust us," Clem replied. Carlos seemed to relax.

"Hang in there, Scout, I'll look at your arm as soon as we get back. You'll be safe inside. Just don't open the doors for anything. We'll be back soon. And... thank you."

I nodded once and Carlos disappeared, leaving Clem and I alone in the kitchen.


	5. Conversations

**Chapter 5 – Conversations **

"Let's go check on Sarah," Clementine headed for the kitchen door.

"We need to talk, Clem," I insisted. Pete's words were burning a hole in my head. All I could think about was Carver, and how she needed to know what I knew. She halted, sighing and turning back to me.

"Look, Scout... I know you don't like them but we're here now. And I don't wanna talk about leaving."

"Clem, we can't-"

"We already are!" she interrupted. "Now they need us."

I dropped my head, not believing my own words. "Christa needed us, too." As soon as I'd said it, I regretted opening my mouth. Clementine looked away, her countenance one of angry sorrow, but she took a seat in Rebecca's empty chair, folding her arms atop the table and deflating. I sighed softly, sliding onto the opposite bench. For a moment we sat in silence, the dim morning light illuminating the room a little more every minute. The silence was comforting, somehow. Like maybe I could have kept everything in, after all. Like maybe I should.

"How's your arm?" she whispered, staring at my shoulder. I peeled the edge of my jacket back. I hadn't pulled the stitches, thankfully, but the limb felt weak.

"I've had worse," I managed a smile, trying to put her at ease. "How's yours?"

"I've had worse," she echoed. "Carlos did a good job fixing it."

I frowned, licking my dry, chapped lips. "_You_ did a good job, too."

She shook her head, unappreciative of my attempts to change the subject. "Even Christa would have agreed that we needed to find a group."

"Not this one, Clementine," I pled softly. "They're runners. They spook too easily."

"What do you mean?"

I hesitated, thinking about Pete again.

"_Pete, tell me about Carver."_

_He turned to me. The sun was setting, casting its last obstinate beams of orange across the dashboard, making nothing visible but the motes of dust swirling around the cabin. Pete was a shadow against them, a singular void in space. _

_"__Carver," he repeated quietly, the word just rolling off his tongue. For a moment I thought that was it: I'd lost him. That his last conscious thought was of that enigma. But his eyes found mine again. "He has a compound a... a few miles from here."_

_"__A compound?"_

_"__An old hardware store he converted. It's massive. Full of people, all organized. Like an army."_

_"__Why are you guys afraid of him? You tick him off or something?" _

_"__You could say that." _

"Clem..." She looked up at me. Maybe I didn't have to tell her everything, but she needed to know how much danger we were in. "Carver is getting closer and closer to this cabin. The river is only half a mile down and they were _there_, yesterday. Soon he'll be _here_, and whatever he wants with these people, it isn't good. And I don't want to be around when it happens."

"We need to warn them, then. No, listen," she interrupted, seeing me lean back in frustration. "I'm not stupid. I know they're not the best group we could be with, but we can use them while we have them. Try to make a go of it. Better than being on our own. Maybe Carver will back off."

"What if we have it backwards? What if Carver's group is the one we want to be with?"

Clem's eyes narrowed. "You mean the guys that attacked Christa? That shot up the river?"

"We don't know if they were together!" I argued, trying to keep my voice down. "For all we know those bandits that attacked Christa tried to do the same to Carver's group and they fought them off. I'm just saying..." I faltered, quickly withdrawing my defense. "I... I won't leave without you, Clem. But this isn't the end of the road, either."

"It never is," she replied stonily, ushering us into another silence. "Come on, let's go check on Sarah."


	6. Intruder

**Chapter 6 – Intruder**

The stairs creaked as we ascended to the second-floor landing. Sarah's room, the first door on the right, was shut tight. Her safe little cave, with her soft bed and coloring books, was a foreign concept to me. Clem knocked softly. No answer. I shrugged, and she carefully opened the door.

"Say cheese!" Sarah shouted, blinding us both with a camera flash. My head pounded again and I growled, rolling my eyes. Sarah was oblivious. "I found this under the house!" She showed us the old Polaroid camera. "There was all kinds of old stuff." The camera spit out the photo and she handed it to Clem. The gray faded and our startled faces were revealed. "Take one of me!"

"We're not in the mood," I shot weakly. Clem elbowed me in the ribs, smiling and taking the camera from Sarah. The older girl jumped back, sticking her tongue out. Clem took the picture, taking it from the slot and handing it to her. She giggled.

"Isn't this the best?"

Clem and I stared at each other.

"What's wrong with you guys? Where's my dad?"

I raised an eyebrow, really asking for Clem's permission to go ahead and say what we both knew ought to be said. She nodded, and that was all I needed. I turned to Sarah. "You should know what's going on."

"He told you not to tell me, didn't he?"

"He's in trouble," I shrugged. "They all are."

"What happened?"

"Everyone's gone," Clem answered softly. "It's... bad."

Sarah turned away, her shoulders quivering as tears began to fall. Though I had been dying to orient her to the world she now lived in, I realized I hadn't considered that she might not be able to make such an adjustment. I remembered what Carlos said... she was different. Different how? Either you were able to survive or not. You were living or you weren't. In this world, you weren't young, old, male, female. You were alive, or you were dead. And I suppose I'd be lying if I wasn't at least somewhat jealous of Sarah, living in the idyllic fantasy she did. It must have taken a lot out of Carlos to keep it intact. I wasn't sure if it made me respect him that much more, or that much less.

"S-sorry," she stammered. "I just need to..." she faltered, taking a seat on the floor and hugging her knees to her chest. Clem smiled weakly at me and followed her to the floor, taking a seat as well. I leaned against the mattress.

"Wanna see what I found?" Sarah asked, trying to change the subject. She took our lack of response as a 'yes' because she stood, reaching under the bed around my legs and withdrawing a nine-millimeter pistol, holding it limply in her hand. I straightened up, bristling. Clem glanced at me as if to offer some effect of calm. I didn't like guns.

"Will you guys show me how to use it?"

I looked sideways at Clem, clenching my fists nervously.

"I couldn't find any bullets," she assured. "Come on... if something goes wrong, I need to know how to use one."

Well, I agreed, of course. Though I myself didn't prefer noisy guns to quieter melee weapons, a doubted a girl like Sarah would be any good with an axe or a knife. Best everyone knew how to at least shoot a gun.

"Only if you don't tell your dad," I bartered, trying to cover our bases.

"Deal," she agreed. I relaxed, taking a seat on the bed, perfectly content to let Clem handle this one.

"First remember that it's just a _thing_," Clem instructed, making me smile to myself. She was such a natural leader. As she showed Sarah how to hold and aim the weapon, her hands as gentle as her words, I wondered about what it would have been like to know her Before. If we had been classmates or neighbors. Would we have been friends, or was it just that these days lost souls tended to latch onto one another like magnets? I thought, if anyone could lead us out of darkness, it was her. Not me. I was too cynical, too distrusting. And more than anything, I needed to be led. I hid it well, but I missed having competent grown-ups around. I missed direction, even though I had always had trouble following it.

"The most important thing is to always aim for the head," Clem continued, bringing me back down to earth. "Unless it's a person trying to hurt you."

"Then what do I do?"

"Just keep shooting."

"Okay. What do I shoot?" Sarah twirled around, and suddenly the gun was aimed at Clem. I jumped up as Clem ducked.

"Don't do that!" Clem shouted.

"Sorry, sorry!" Sarah quickly dropped the gun. "M-maybe I could practice outside." She paced back to the window. "Hey, Luke's back!" she exclaimed, heading for the bedroom door. I followed Clementine to the window and peered down. Sure enough, a shadow was disappearing between the trees leading to the front door, but I couldn't see Luke. When I looked back up, Clem was staring at me.

_The river is only half a mile down and they were _there,_ yesterday. Soon he'll be here, and whatever he wants with these people, it isn't good. And I don't want to be around when it happens._

I steadied myself. "Come on," I whispered.

We left the room and headed for the stairs. Outside one of the living room windows I saw the shadow again. At the first-floor landing, I raised an arm for Clem to slow down, craning my neck to see outside. Nothing.

"Sarah?" Clem whispered.

Putting a finger to my lips, I pointed to the foyer, where I could see Sarah hiding behind the archway. As we approached, she trembled with her characteristic fear. "That's not Luke. Clem... I think I know him!" Even my calm wavered, and I knew it was him. _Carver_.

The stranger pounded on the door. I felt a chill run down my spine. But I had given the enigma Carver so much thought without having met him that I felt almost a familiarity with the man, but my fascination didn't outweigh my fear. Bottom line: he was dangerous.

"He _can't_ see me," Sarah squeaked. "You guys have to make him go away."

"Go find somewhere to hide," Clem directed. Sarah departed in a daze. Clem turned to me. "What do we do?"

I honestly had no fucking clue. Ignoring the pain in my arm I reached down to my waist and unsheathed my buck knife, holding it firmly in my hand. "Well... I'm gonna answer the door." I felt compelled, _driven _to it. I had to know something. Clem's eyes went wide. The knocks came again. "Clem... he's gonna come in whether we want him to or not."

She nodded, and I stepped into the foyer.

"Hello?" the stranger called through the window. My head pounded. I steeled myself, Clem at my side, and opened the door a crack. "Hello there," the man stared down at us, a sort of satisfied grin on his face that made me uneasy. But in his blue jeans and brown jacket, he appeared almost neighborly. I tried to keep my head quiet, tried to remember that this was a stranger who couldn't be trusted.

"Get out of here. Now," I hardened, my knife hidden behind the halfway-closed door.

"Is that how your dad taught you to greet a neighbor?" he chided, making me bristle.

"We have a gun," Clem spoke up from behind me.

"Smart girls. I would, too. But I'm not a bad guy, honey," he turned to me. "Promise you that. My family and I are set up a ways downriver." He turned, gesturing in the direction of the path Pete led us down. The path of no certain return. The river? I thought back to Pete, and our conversation.

_"__So what's so great about this hardware store he's got?_"

_"__Gotta give the man credit," Pete coughed, altogether ignoring the blood dripping down his chin. "He runs a tight ship. Place is under constant guard, everyone does a job. They make their own food, have their own armory... it's like the lurkers don't even exist."_

_"__So how do you piss a guy like that off?"_

_Pete leaned back in the driver's seat, sighing deeply. "I used to think, these days, that there were no more gray areas. You get busy livin' or you get busy dyin.' But Carver... livin' and dyin' is like his business. Up there, he's god. Ain't any more room for anyone else to have a say." He sounded like he laughed, but it turned into coughing again. "We all thought we were doing the right thing, leaving him. Bastard can't take it. No... can't take it. He'll come. He'll come whether you want him to or not. Scout..."_

_Pete's time was almost up. _

Clem nudged me, inclining her head toward his waistband. He had a pistol holstered there. A Colt Python. My thoughts turned inward. _How did I know that?_ "I'm kinda surprised we haven't run into each other yet. What's your names?"

"What's _your _name?" Clem demanded.

The stranger smiled, extending a hand. "My name's George."

"Clementine." I wasn't sure if by shaking his hand Clem meant to be friendly or was merely pretending.


	7. The Stranger

**Chapter 7 – The Stranger**

I wasn't wrong about Carver, and neither was Pete. He was coming in, whether we wanted him to or not. The excuse he made about the unusually stifling autumn heat wasn't necessary – he just gave the door a push and stepped across our threshold like he owned the place. Clem and I gave ground and I heard someone scuttle through the living room. _Sarah_. George... _Carver, _that sly smile still on his unshaven face, glanced around, taking brief interest in a trout mounted on the wall. I don't know how I was so sure it was him, but I knew it wasn't what anybody else had said. I just knew it. Knew it in my bones.

"This is a nice place," he remarked. "Is there anyone else around?"

When I was a child, and I mean a child in the sense of having a child's mindset, I had an uncle that once told me, _never con a con. _Knowing unequivocally that this man was Carver I knew that he was _not_ set up down the river, and that he knew full well who lived in this cabin. And Clem had been right – whether we were _with_ this group or not, we were knee-deep in their shit, whatever that was. And for better or worse we had no choice but to stick it out.

Carver paced to the archway, staring into the living room. He carried himself with the air of someone well-seasoned, someone not easily budged or disturbed. Whether his calm was genuine or an illusion, something about it made me gravitate toward him. _He runs a tight ship_, Pete had said. If I had seen an ad for his 'compound' in some dime-store magazine (what a thought), I'd have been sold, for sure.

"We have a big group," Clementine replied. "Lots."

"Oh? How big?" He raised an eyebrow. _Don't lie, Clem. He'll know_.

"Dozens." _Shit. _"They'll be back soon."

"And they left you two here all alone? They must trust you."

My arm throbbed horribly, suddenly. I cringed, gasping under my breath. Carver noticed, furrowing his brow at me but otherwise ignoring my quickly-stifled pain.

"Well, I'll cut to the chase," his tone deepened. "I'm out looking for my people. Seven of them, to be exact." He paced into the living room. Clem and I followed. "They've been gone a long while and I'm worried they might have gotten lost. Maybe you seen 'em. Couple of farm boys and an old man, Spanish guy and his daughter. Quiet girl. Bit taller than you two. Big black guy."

"That's a lot of people to lose," Clem countered.

"Tell me about it," he humored. "This whole damn thing's a pain in the ass." Then, without prelude, he pivoted and opened the door to the kitchen, stepping inside to look around. Clem cringed, turning toward the stairs. Wherever Sarah was, she wasn't moving. We followed Carver through the swinging door, watching as he checked out the room.

"It looks like a damn tornado ran through here," he muttered, looking at the stacks of dirty plates in the sink. In ways I didn't like I was unwillingly reminded of my father.

"Must be like... close to ten people with you." He leaned against the counter, facing us.

"More," Clem continued her charade, mirroring his position to lean against the bar. I remained silent, the knife still in my hand. Carver pinned his gaze on me, eying the weapon.

"Hmm," he mused. "Just passing through or you been here a while?" I had a sense the question was directed at Clem, but he continued to stare at me, as if he could right into my soul. I forced myself to meet that gaze, his brown eyes devoid, but somehow bright, like they could be warm, to some people. Not to me.

"Hey, listen, kids, I hope you're not some of those nuts headed up north looking for Shangri-La." _Wellington_? "I'm not sure why you'd go anywhere after finding this place."

"None of your business," I found my voice, stepping forward, the knife glinting in the sunlight. Carver straightened, his face hardening.

"You might want to tell your attack dog to back off, Clementine," he drawled dangerously. "She's gonna get you into trouble one of these days." I clenched my jaw, all but baring my teeth at him. But Clem wasn't looking at Carver. Her eyes were on the counter. On the knife resting on the counter. She reached for it, but Carver was quicker, snatching it up and turning toward us. Clem jumped back.

"Where does this go?" he inquired, his amiability gone. The answer didn't matter – he took the knife and dropped it into an empty drawer, far out of our reach. Then he turned to us again. "Now I'd feel much better if you put yours away, too." It was not a suggestion.

"Make me," I dared.

"Oh, you don't want me to do that," he replied, that sly grin creeping back into his features. How he could have known I wouldn't do anything was beyond me... _I _didn't even know it. But he pushed past us back into the foyer, glancing around again and continuing his self-led tour. "This is a real nice place. Kinda cozy." He stepped up to the coffee table. A chessboard, its pieces frozen mid-play, barely garnered his interest. He stared at the sofa, where a crumpled shirt lay discarded.

"I knew a guy who always wore shirts like this," he remarked. "Doctor. Real smug son of a bitch."

"What's his name?" Clem inquired. I was crumbling inside. Any conversation from this point was surely futile.

"Carlos," he replied knowingly, turning to the chessboard again. "Well, well. White's in trouble."

My breathing almost gave away Sarah's slow, quiet ascent to the second floor. Carver pivoted, his back to her. "Three moves away from checkmate." Maybe he was a genius. Maybe he was just toying with us.

A floorboard creaked, and he didn't miss a beat. "What was that?"

We shrugged dolefully. I added Sarah to my mental shit list. Carver stood at the base of the stairs, glaring at us. "I thought you said nobody was here." His tone brooked no room for any more bullshit. Clem remained silent, as did I. Carver withdrew his pistol, heading for the second floor. Clem's eyes went wide and we followed him up. He scanned his options and headed straight for Sarah's room, opening the door and raising his gun. Clem and I looked around, and then Clem spotted her, lying prostrate under the bed, trembling in fear. I was unmoved, strangely, as though I were looking into the scene from a seat in the proverbial audience, only purely curious as to what would happen, caring neither for the welfare of myself nor any other character in the play.

"We told you, nobody's here," Clem folded her arms, glaring at Carver.

"Seems that way," he acquiesced, holstering his pistol and pacing to the window. "Didn't mean to be rude. Couldn't just leave you here in good conscience if someone was poking around, right?"

I wanted desperately to believe him. That maybe somehow it couldn't all be bullshit and the guy really was called George and had a nice family somewhere down the river, a family we could all be a part of. But my head and my heart burned with distrust and fascination. Here he was, the enigma Carver, and what power he wielded.

He smiled, bending down to scoop something off the floor. A piece of paper? Oh, _shit_. He rotated the Polaroid photo toward us, and we were met once again with Sarah's goofy-ass face. "Who's _this_?"

"Never seen her before," Clem replied, deadpan, folding her arms. Carver didn't answer, and I sensed we had reached the line in the sand.

"You have no idea who these people are, do you?" It was not a question.

"Do _you_ know them?" Clem asked, and somehow I was grateful we weren't acting anymore.

"Lemme ask you this: when you met 'em, how much did they trust you?"

"They locked us in a shed," I found my voice, trying desperately to retain my sense of perspective. We shouldn't be choosing sides here. Of the people we'd met in the past forty-right hours, only Carver hadn't in some way wronged us. Scared us, sure. But maybe that was just him. In a world like this maybe an uncanny ability to make people uneasy made you a good leader. Put people in their place.

"If people don't trust _you_, how can you trust _them_?" he folded his arms. We didn't answer, and his expression softened. "Well, I think I've troubled you two long enough. I can let myself out." He headed for the stairs.

"Wait," Clem called, hurrying to the landing. "Who are you?"

"You girls have a real good day now."

It sounded like a threat.


	8. Blood and Water

**Chapter 8 - Blood is Thicker Than Water**

The door slammed shut behind Carver and for a couple minutes, we were silent. Sarah emerged from the bedroom, asking nervous questions that I didn't hear. My head was swimming, and just as words get stuck on the tip of your tongue I had memories coming back suddenly, piling up on the threshold of my mind, just bits and pieces, nothing specific to make out. All I knew is that I knew this man, and if I was right, I had to be sure.

I pushed off the banister and hurried down the stairs, grabbing Sarah's gun from the living room floor. Scout!" Clem hollered after me.

"Stay here!" I shouted, not looking back. I sheathed my knife and shoved the gun into the waistband of my jeans, wrenching the door open and blasting down the path. My sneakers pounded the ground but I felt as though I were running in sleepstate – like a nightmare where you move inexplicably slow. In a clearing I stopped to catch my breath, thinking I'd lost the man. I clutched my shoulder beneath my coat and my palm came away bloody. "_Shit_," I muttered. Finally pulled those stitches.

"You shouldn't stray so far from home, little one. There are dangerous folk about."

I straightened up, pulling my sweaty palms from my knees. Carver stood a few yards away on the other side of the clearing, smiling that strange way he did. I watched him, the way a hunter watches a prize animal: with a burning ache to shoot it down, but too much reverence for the creature to ever consider doing it wrong. Carver took a step toward me and I snapped out of my reverie as the fear crawled back up my spine. I pulled the gun from my jeans and took aim. Carver raised his hands. "Easy now." The wind kicked up, stirring the branches above us. Carver lowered his hands, his smile gone and countenance hard. He took a step forward, and I tensed, matching his movement. He wisely halted.

"You look like you got something on your mind, kiddo. Why don't you spit it out so you and I can go about our business."

There it was. A memory forcing its way over the threshold.

_"__Daddy?" I padded across the living room, my socked feet sinking into the stained, beige carpet. "Mama?" I could hear them in the kitchen, voices tempered just enough to sound angry, but quietly angry. Strategically angry._

_"__Make a choice," I heard Mama shout, a drawer of silverware clanging shut. _

_"__He's my blood," Daddy replied, weakening. _

_I pressed my small hands to the door, ready to push it back, ready to ask for milk or water or another bedtime story, please. But before I could reveal myself, a pair of strong, warm hands gripped me around the torso, pulling me up. My uncle cradled me against his chest. I laid my cheek upon his shoulder, breathing in his uniform. He'd been out all day and smelled like the inside of his police car – cheap air fresheners and beef jerky. My thin legs dangled by his waist, my right brushing his holstered gun. "Come on, darlin.' No reason for you to hear this."_

"Now, girlie, I hope you haven't gone formulating a bad opinion about me just because of my visit." Carver snapped me out of my reverie.

"Take out your gun," I demanded, using mine to gesture to his. He scrutinized me, slowly reaching for the pistol. "Slowly. Unload it." He obeyed, sliding the chamber open. The bullets fell free, clattering to the hard earth. Carver put his index finger through the trigger and extending his arm, letting the pistol hang limply free.

"Toss it over here."

The gun landed at my feet, gleaming in the sunlight. Slowly I reached down and picked it up, turning it over in my hands. On the inside of the hilt there was an engraved icon of the Georgia Police Department seal, for which the Colt Python was standard issue. My chest felt tight, like all the air had rushed out at once. Carver seemed intrigued.

Before I could open my mouth, I heard a click near my right ear and froze. The cold steel barrel of a rifle grazed the back of my head and I lowered my gun. "Drop them," my captor ordered. I let the guns fall to the ground. Without warning, the man wrapped his arm around my neck. I grabbed at it with my hands but his lock was strong. Carver approached, taking up his gun and reloading it, sliding the bullets back into the chamber with deliberate precision. I clutched at my captor, his arm crushing my windpipe.

"You know, you do seem a mite familiar to me." Carver humored. "Troy, let the kid go."

_Troy_ released me drawing his camo-covered arm back from my neck. But not quick enough to dodge the elbow I jammed into his sternum.

"Augh!" he shouted hoarsely. "You little shit!"

"Enough!" Carver roared. Troy snarled but stepped back, clutching his chest. I stilled, watching Carver apprehensively, drawing back when he approached. He said nothing, only looked me up and down and then stared into my eyes with such intensity that I had to look away, shifting uncomfortably.

"Why are you following me?" he darkened. "And don't lie."

"Like you lied?" I retorted. His eyes narrowed. I rubbed my throat, coughing hoarsely. "Your name isn't George. What is it?"

"Something tells me you already know," he toyed. I stared daggers at him."What's your name, girl?"

"Scout," I replied. "Scout Carver."

"Well, I'll be damned," he muttered, smiling wickedly.


	9. Pictures

**Chapter 9 – Pictures**

When I returned to the cabin, the whole place felt foreign again, as though I had never set foot inside. I forced myself to open the front door, knowing Clem would have left it unlocked for me despite the danger of doing so. Quintessential Clementine. I decided not to scold her for it, pushing the door shut behind me and pacing robotically into the living room.

Clem and Sarah were on the couch, their faces turned toward me apprehensively. Clem rose first, rushing to me. "What happened?"

"Nothing," I lied. "I couldn't find him." My head was swimming again, but I couldn't dwell on these events now. I drew Sarah's gun from my waistband and set it down on a table.

"Did you see my dad?" Sarah leapt up.

"No," I shook my head, clutching my injured arm again.

"We have to find them," Clementine's face hardened and she turned toward the hallway. Sarah and I followed her, Sarah protesting about the inherent hazards of going outside. She was right, though, and I didn't have the energy to be annoyed with her cowardice. But we didn't have to debate it. As we stepped through the swinging door into the kitchen, Luke arrived through the back door.

"Clementine, Scout!"

"Sarah," Carlos emerged behind him. Sarah gasped, hurrying into his arms.

"You two were with Nick, right?" Luke grabbed at our attention, grounding me.

"We got separated at the river," Clementine explained. "I was with Nick, and..."

"I was with Pete," I finished.

"We gotta go find them," he asserted.

"A man was here," Sarah's small voice rose above the fray. I watched as she pulled away from Carlos, clutching her folded arms to her chest, hunched over slightly. A stiff breeze would have blown her over. She was like nothing, barely extant at all. At least the attention was off us.

"What?" Carlos demanded.

"What did she say?" Rebecca. She and Alvin filed in behind the bar and the door swung shut.

"A man came to the cabin," she repeated timidly. I shut my eyes. My head was pounding again.

"Who?"

"Clementine and Scout talked to him."

I opened my eyes. Rebecca was glaring at us. "You two just opened the _door_ for him!?"

"Calm down, Rebecca," Luke stepped forward, blocking my view of her.

"Calm down!? I _am _calm! _You_ calm down!"

"He was coming in either way," Clementine placated.

"I told you not to open the door for _anyone_," Carlos chided. "Did he... did he say his name?"

I turned to Clem, and despite her forgiving nature I knew she didn't buy Carver's fake name bullshit any more than I did. _It's him. It's Carver_, I would have told her if we'd had time. I hoped she knew. Still, I felt dirty. If the group knew what I did, we were done for here.

"Maybe it wasn't him," Rebecca interrupted.

"We know damn well it was," Alvin threw in.

"Yeah," Clem ignored them. "But I think he was lying."

"I thought he said his name was George," Sarah chimed innocently, as though we were discussing something mundane, like the weather or a football game or what our homework assignment was.

"_George_?" Rebecca whispered, and the room fell eerily silent. I studied Rebecca intently, and for once, she looked away.

"Look, girls, just tell us what he looked like," Carlos entreated. "What was he wearing?"

"A brown coat," Clem replied. "With a fur lining."

_It was sherpa. Used to be white, the color of lamb's wool. Hadn't been white in a long time, the way my uncle wore it. My little fingers grasped at the soft fabric, clenching the pilling fluff. The coat was sprawled out on Daddy's armchair. _

_"__Alright, princess," Uncle Bill turned to me, snapping his phone shut and sliding it back into his pocket. "Your mama's on her way home so I gotta make myself scarce, you understand?"_

_I didn't. I wanted to. Uncle Bill said that a lot – _you understand?_ I didn't. I wanted to. _

"He talked about you, Dad. You're not gonna hurt anyone, are you?" Sarah's voice was smaller than ever.

"Of course he's not, Sarah," Luke raised his hands in a calming gesture. "Your dad's the nicest man I know, which is why," he turned to Carlos, "he's _not _gonna do anything crazy or... _not nice_. Right, Carlos?"

Carlos laid his hand on Sarah's shoulder. "You know these are bad people, sweetie. They will do or say anything to hurt us." I bristled at this, gritting my teeth to avoid opening my mouth.

"Alright, what do you think?" Luke addressed Clem and I. "Did it seem like he'd be coming back?"

"He saw a picture of me." _Goddammit, Sarah, shut the fuck up!_

"A _picture_?!" Carlos raised his voice suddenly, startling even me. "What were you doing taking _pictures_?"

"Carlos!" Luke chided. "You need to calm down. You're... you're scaring your daughter."

But Carlos would not calm down. He clenched the photo in his fist and I watched the polaroid crumple. "Unbelievable," he snarled, shaking his head. "He... he was scouting. We got lucky. He wasn't expecting to find us. Clementine and Scout must have surprised him. If they hadn't been here..." he faltered. "Well... he was too smart to stick around. But he'll be back with the rest. We don't have much time."

"He's right," Luke folded his arms. "Everyone pack up. We're moving out."

Alvin and Rebecca were the first to rush off. Carlos knelt before Sarah. "We have to leave, sweetie, before he comes back with more bad guys. But it's gonna be okay."

I was sickened by this charade. _Bad guys_. No, _bad guys_ were something you saw on Saturday morning cartoons, dressed in impractically stupid bandit masks and hefting bags of money over their shoulders. _Bad guys_ were losers with no fortitude. I dropped my arms, approaching them. "Why did you leave his camp?" I demanded.

"Because we_ had_ to," Carlos defended, straightening up. "Girls, I don't know what he told _you_, but William Carver is a dangerous man. He's the leader of a camp not far from here, and he's very smart. We were lucky to escape."

_William Carver_. Now that someone else had spoken his name aloud it hung in the air like a dark ghost.

"Look, I'm sorry to have to involve you but now that he's seen you two you'll be safer with us."

"I doubt that," I replied stonily, and I could feel Clem's desperate eyes on me, knowing that more than anything she had wanted this to work.

Broken world, broken people.


	10. Dependence

**Chapter 10 – Dependence**

The woods were silent when we left the cabin and the day had shifted again. Now the ambient light was bright, but gray, the sun not even visible behind the ghostly pallor of the afternoon in an incoming autumn. Even the dirt beneath our feet crunched as we walked, as if conspiring with the trees to give our position away. I pushed my hands into the pockets of my coat – a black wool field jacket that fit me right everywhere but somehow seemed too big. Guess I was just getting thinner. I had dug it out of the cabin's hall closet during our desperate raid of the place before our escape not minutes before. Now I had it, the knife, and somebody's old leather rucksack, which had nothing in it but the twelve packs of Camels I had left, the gold watch Clem and I had taken from the cabin, and some appropriated food.

"You said it was just up here?" Luke asked Clementine. We were headed to the shed first to find Luke. I didn't have the heart to tell Luke Pete was dead. Not even _most likely_ dead. I knew it in my soul.

_"__Scout, just... whatever you do, don't forget your role. Don't let anything get in the way of that, not even people you love. Just because they're _your_ people, just because you're blood, doesn't mean they're not gonna fuck it up, that _they're_ not fucked up." Pete shifted in the driver's seat, his face contorting as another spasm of pain ripped up his leg. "I spent a lotta years trying to save everybody. Carver... he was probably a good man, once. So was I. But there are no good men anymore."_

I lagged behind her, Rebecca and Alvin behind me. "Hey, guys," Rebecca called, hurrying to catch up to us. "I'm sorry if I gave you two some shit back there. I'm... just a little on edge."I didn't feel this warranted any kind of response, and turned away, studying the ground. Rebecca, in her quiet desperation for forgiveness, looked to Clem. "It's just a tough time right now, with the pregnancy and all..."

"Why is Carver after you?" Clem hazarded.

"After _me?_" she exclaimed, making my eyes narrow. "Oh.. you mean _us_. It's a long story. He... he has a hard time letting go."

_Of what?_

"I know you guys did your best back there," she softened. "You know, none of us would survive on our own. Sometimes it's hard knowing how dependent I am on everyone. I'm not used to that. I'm not _comfortable_ with that. I'm supposed to be a mom soon. Guess I need to work on my patience. Alvin and I _still_ don't know what to call her. Or _him_, if that man gets his wish, God help me."

Clem's attention shifted suddenly and mine followed hers like a ship seeks a lighthouse. Rebecca was still talking, but she trailed off as Clem came to a stop, turning right to face the thick trees.

"Clem?" Rebecca tested weakly.

I followed her, and after a few paces the shed came into view. We ducked low into the grass, watching a stray walker amble around, knocking his shins against the bodies of his kin.

"That's where we were," Clem indicated. Luke straightened up, withdrawing his machete and taking out the stray walker. The _shink_ of his blade aroused another, leaning weakly against the doors of the shed, and he dispatched that one, too. Clem and I stood, following him to the double doors and shoving the walker aside.

"Nick?" Luke called. A barely audible moan erupted from within. "Alright, you two get the doors."

Clem and I each grabbed a handle. Luke stood between us, his machete at the ready. He nodded, and we pushed them open. They creaked gently, softly and I peered into the dark room that had been Clementine's prison. In the corner, I could make out Nick, curled into the fetal position, the brim of his trucker hat masking his face. The moaning continued. Luke pushed past us, his boots bumping against empty jars. The whole room smelt of whiskey. "Jesus..."

Nick stirred, rising up on his elbows. "Hey, man," he slurred. "You got some aspirin?"

"Nick, you asshole," Luke replied in clear relief. He went to his side, hauling him up beneath the arms and pulling him into a hug. "We gotta get moving, okay? Carver's gang showed up and we still haven't found Pete. Can you make it?"

"Yeah." He raised his head and spotted me. "Wait... she..._ she_ was with Pete. What do you mean you haven't found him?"

Luke turned to me, just a shadow in the dim light of the shed. The wind shifted. I swallowed, hanging my head. "He's dead."

"You know that _for sure_?" Luke demanded darkly.

"No, but-"

"Show us where you last saw him!" Nick shouted.


	11. Talker

**Chapter 11 - Talker**

The truck was still there but now its wheels were ground into the mud. Pete must have revved it hard.

_"__As soon as you see 'em crowdin' around the windshield you push those doors open and go, you hear me?"_

"Pete!" Nick shouted, racing to the truck and flinging the half-open doors back. "He's not in here!"

"Check around," someone said. I was in a daze.

"Pete!"

Something on the ground caught my eye. I lifted my nose to the air and could almost taste the iron in Pete's blood. As if led by this I paced to a nearby boulder, gently running my hand over its dark, craggy surface. When I raised my fingers, they were coated in blood. On the ground at my feet, the trail continued, and ended at Pete's body, contorted upon the ground. His mouth hung agape, one of his legs was bent the wrong direction entirely, and his insides were spilling from his gut. Near him lay a walker, in no better shape.

"Oh my God," Clem murmured, so close to me I could feel her breath on my neck. Footfall told me everyone had heard and they crowded around us.

"What happened!?" Nick pushed us aside. "What the hell happened to him?" He knelt, his body wracked with silent sobs. "Why did you _leave_ him?" He shouted in my face. I wanted to shrink, not from Nick, but from this image of Pete, who had for all intents and purposes been a savior of mine. I tried to remember our conversation before I'd fled, but even the flashbacks of that wouldn't come. No, I was irrevocably grounded in this moment. Drowning in it.

"He's been shot," Carlos observed sadly.

"We have to move," Luke put his hand on Nick's shoulder.

"No, no..." he shoved him away. "We have to bury him."

"We don't have time, Nick!" Luke reached down, grabbing his friend and pulling him up. "You gotta get it together, man, we have to _move_!"

As Luke wrestled him away and the rest of the group began to follow, I knelt by Pete's body.

"Scout..." Clem spoke, her voice almost lost in my head. Should have known she wouldn't leave me. I cocked my head in her direction, but she said nothing else. Fighting the burn in my heart, I opened Pete's jacket. Inside one of the pockets the soft white corner of a photograph caught my eye. I pulled it free and held it lightly in my palms, staring down at my savior and the little boy who couldn't even kill a deer.


	12. Backpedaling

**Chapter 12 – Backpedaling**

We continued on through the heedless wood, the well-worn path stretched out before us, never-ending. Eventually, Nick fell behind, drifting ghost-like through our ranks until he was the last of the pack. _I'm worried about that kid_, I heard Luke mumble to Clementine. _Keep an eye on him for me, would you?_

That's what Pete had said. _Keep an eye on him for me. He's a good boy. _

I felt Clem's eyes on me. I raised my head, nodded to let her know I was here. I was here.

"So..." Nick started, "you still gonna stick with us? I know we... got off to a rocky start, and I can't make any promises it won't get rougher..."

_I can't make any promises, _I had told Pete. _Who can, in this world?_

"We don't have anywhere else to go," Clem replied, and I knew she believed it. I knew the matter was closed for her. But as I followed them down that path I felt Carver's words tug at me, like a rope knotted around my spine. Felt his gun in my hands, heavier than I had remembered it being.

"Well, then, welcome to the party," Luke joked.

"Yeah, thanks," Clem retorted mildly.

Luke backpedaled, whipping a map out of his back pocket. "We're smarter than we look. I figure we got about four or five days to reach those mountains." He pointed to the trail we were on, outlined in red marker, and then to the range a few kilometers ahead of our location. "Now if they're tracking us, we should be able to lose 'em up there."

"Five _days_?" Rebecca whimpered from behind us.

"It's gonna be okay, Bec," Alvin comforted.

"We have to keep moving now," Carlos affirmed. "It's our only choice."

Five days.

I didn't sleep.

When I laid down my head pounded, and I only thought of Pete, trying to remember everything he said as it slipped further and further into the recesses of my addled mind. I wanted to hear his voice again, even if it reverberated in my head hard as drums, I wanted to hear it. But it was gone, and slowly Carver's voice crept in to take its place.

_"__What's your name, girl?"_

_"__Scout," I replied. "Scout Carver."_

_"__Well, I'll be damned," he muttered, smiling wickedly._

_How I had recognized him I never knew. I could barely remember what my parents looked like, though it had only been three years since I'd seen my father; when you aren't looking at someone every day, it's easy to forget the details. Shapes of noses and mouths. I remember that my mother's cheeks were soft and her lips warm when she kissed me at night, but when I thought of her eyes I saw only the hollow voids where eyes should be. I knew my father longer, but in my last memory of him his face was obscured, and so my memory was obscured. _

_But something about Carver was constant, unchanging. It was his very nature to be like the rock in the middle of the ocean that does not give, does not shift, whose pieces do not slough off in the storm. He was weathered, yes, but hardened, unshakable. Like God. Like the Devil himself. _

And when sleep grabbed hold of me its tendrils were cold and greedy, and the nightmares snapped me awake with every horrible twist. The first night no one said a word to me, though they each took their turn on shift watch. The second night was no better. The umpteenth time I was jarred to consciousness I heard their voices, whispering in hushed tones about me. I laid back down on the frigid earth, hugging my coat around me.

The third night, I didn't even bother trying. The hours the group slept passed in a blur though I remained stagnant, my back against a boulder, one hand clutching my knife and the other, usually, a cigarette.

The fourth day we began to climb. The ascension to a higher altitude took me off guard and I lagged behind, dazed and heavy with exhaustion. Clementine was peacefully oblivious. I did my utmost to remain stable, to make sure she didn't know I'd been haunted over the past few days. She slept as well as could be expected, though by the fifth day I couldn't hide it any longer. I must have seemed shrouded in the pallor of insomnia, a ghost.

"What's wrong?" she asked, drifting to my side as the group pressed onward down the path.

I shook my head. "Nothing. Just tired."

"You haven't been sleeping," she replied. It was not a question. I sighed, looking up at her with a sad smile.

"No. But it's okay. That's what happens when you get to sleep inside for a while."

Her brow furrowed.

"It's too comfy," I explained, chuckling weakly. "Now my body's like... fuck this sleeping-outside shit, ya know?"

She lightened up, shaking her head. I knew she knew I was lying. And I knew she would let my brushing off of this issue slide but now her eyes were on me. She knew my feelings about the group but even I was hanging on Luke's every direction. He was our only guide through the woods and I prayed his five-day estimate was accurate. I felt uneasy aside from exhausted. Carver was following us, following me. But it wasn't just me he wanted. I stared at Rebecca's back as she and Alvin walked ahead.

Sure enough, our breakthrough came on the fifth day. We reached the end of the path and a deep valley cut by a river, a rickety bridge connecting one side of the woods to the other. The mountains loomed in the distance and though it was only mid-afternoon I could already see the moon hovering above them, threatening us with nightfall.

Rebecca took a seat on a log with Alvin, grateful to stop and rest.

The rest of us approached the edge of the cliff, peering down. It must have been hundreds of feet to the river. No way around. Clementine clambered atop a boulder, reaching down to me. I shrugged off my rucksack and took her hand, laying on my stomach next to her. Calm, even smiling some, she retrieved the binoculars Luke handed up.

"See anything?" he asked.

"They better see something," Alvin muttered. "We been walking for a damn week."

"We've got to find some shelter," Carlos implored.

"There's a lift or something," Clementine reported. I squinted, barely making out the thin white cables.

"Ski lift?" Luke asked.

"I've never been skiing," Clem replied, looking at me. I shrugged. I'd never been, either. "There's a building on the mountain."

"What's it look like?"

"It's... big."

"Must be that old ski resort. Sounds like a good place to spend the night," Luke decided. Nobody objected. I tapped the binoculars and Clem handed them over, refocusing them on the bridge.

"There's a little white house on the other side by the bridge," I muttered.

"How big is it?" Carlos shouted from behind.

"Pretty small."

"Does the bridge look passable?" Luke inquired.

"I think so," I returned. "Rickety, sure. But passable." I already felt my pallor lifting, glad to have a job to do.

"Good."

Clem and I slid down from the boulder, hiking our backpacks over our shoulders.

"We have to cross that bridge," Carlos commanded. "Let's go."

"Hold on, now," Luke argued. "We can't all go sprintin' across that thing, okay? We get spotted out there we're gonna be trapped."

"Going around the river will take too long," Carlos retorted.

"Right, but look, we've got no idea who's out there. Okay, I'm gonna sneak across and make sure it's clear before we bring the whole group over."

"You think splitting up the group is a good idea?"

"I never said it was a _good_ idea, but... it's better than risking everyone at once."

"What's your plan?" Alvin chimed in.

"Well, Clem and I can scoot across low and slow and make sure nobody's waitin' for us on the other side."

I considered this. It was true that Clem and Luke had hit it off. Though I couldn't always hear what they were saying they'd become pretty thick over the past few days, discussing strategy and their personal histories and what had become of their lives and the people they were responsible for. It was almost as if Clem were becoming a leader of the group, along with Luke. I was perfectly content_ not_ to lead, despite that I often felt I knew the better course of action. It didn't hurt that Luke had named Clem as his partner for this expedition, but it wasn't gonna stop me from joining them.

"I'm coming."

Luke turned to me. "Scout, I need you here."

"I don't give a fuck where _you_ need me," I pivoted, squaring off with him. "I go where she goes."

"We'll have a tough time covering you from back here," Alvin ignored our tryst, more concerned with the rest of the group's safety.

"Well, we'll just turn back if it gets hairy."

Carlos shook his head. "Clem and Scout should stay here. They're..."

"They're _what?_" Luke challenged, folding his arms.

"They're just little girls, Luke."

"Maybe I should stay," Clem appeased, looking to Luke.

"Or maybe we should cut the bullshit," I stepped forward, glaring at Carlos and feeling the weight of my restless nights seep into my skin and make me angry. "We've all seen how your parenting style has played out, Carlos. So quit trying to baby us and worry about your own."

"_Scout,_" Clem pled, putting her hand on my shoulder. I shrugged it off.

"Let's go, already," I reached for my waistband, unsheathing my knife and pacing toward the bridge. "We're losing daylight."


	13. The Bridge

**Chapter 13 – The Bridge**

I walked ahead of Luke and Clementine toward the bridge, trying to ignore them bantering about group dynamics. Luke was worried about Nick, always worried about Nick. Dumb kid. Said everyone was just on edge because of the _Carver thing_. Like it was so easily trivialized. Was Luke totally oblivious or did he honestly think Carver would just stop?

"Why would he still be following us?" Clementine asked him.

Luke didn't answer right away. "What's the most important thing in this world?"

I slowed my walk some, for some reason curious what Clem would say. What would _I _have said? Food? My stomach rumbled. Sleep. Sleep would be nice.

"What's the one thing a guy would walk hundreds of miles to get back?"

"Family," Clem replied sorrowfully.

"It's a tough world out there without people you can trust. Anyways... you can ask Rebecca. I'm not gonna get in the middle of it."

I was reminded of the first night we'd spent at the cabin, sneaking in through the trapdoor to find supplies and later hiding in the bathroom when Rebecca made an impromptu trip there to cry about her coming baby. _Let it be his_, she had murmured into the dirty mirror. She meant Alvin, I knew. But if it wasn't Alvin's, and it wasn't anybody else's, there was only one father it could belong to.

Only one reason Carver wanted this group in the first place.

And with me, now two.

I refused to think about my meeting with Carver in the woods, about what was said after I told him my name. And thankfully, we had reached the bridge. Quickly dispatching a couple of lingering walkers, we began to make our way across, Clem and Luke on the left, me on the right, all of us careful to avoid the rotting wooden planks lining the middle. Up ahead, a couple of walkers moaned, one trapped beneath a rail car.

I heard another moan behind us and looked over my shoulder. I made a _ssst_ noise with my teeth to get Luke and Clem's attention and nodded my head toward the walkers.

"Shit," Luke muttered, withdrawing his machete. Clem grasped her hammer, I my knife. Luke stepped away from her, approaching the line of walkers coming from the other side.

"Clem, come over here," I reached my free hand out. She toed the wooden planks between us. They creaked, making her flinch and shift her weight. Enough to make one of them crack. Without any more warning than that, Clem fell through.

"Scout!" she screamed, wrapping her arms around an intact plank. I heard another crack and looked up. Luke had fallen through as well, but I couldn't see him.

"Luke!" I shouted.

"I'm okay! I'm just stuck!"

I stood, backing up to the edge of the bridge and running forward, taking a flying leap from my side to the other. "Alright, come on," I knelt, reaching for Clem. She grabbed my arm and I hauled her up, collapsing on my back, her on her stomach next to me. "Watch out!" I shouted, kicking my legs up as a walker approached us. The creature went flying back, stumbled into the hole Clem had created, and slipped through to the abyss below.

"Luke!" Clem ran to where he'd fallen, shoving a walker aside. I got to my feet, leaping back to the other side. They were coming much faster now, and more of them.

"Clem!" She looked up at me, barely scooting out of a walker's grasp before it clutched her. She raised the hammer and struck it in the knee, bringing it down to all fours and then burying the tool in its skull. I hurried to Luke. He was a few feet down, propped on some metal beams crisscrossing the underside of the bridge. Between us was another walker, trying desperately to reach him.

"Agh!" Clem screamed. I looked up. She was stumbling back, teetering over the edge of the bridge. _No_. And then it happened. She fell. My breath lodged in my throat and stayed there. But then I heard her screaming again. She was hanging on. I rose, roaring as I pushed one of the walkers into the ground and drove my knife into its forehead. It stilled, and I wrenched the weapon free, pivoting on my knees to jam it upward into the second walker's eye. It fell and I hurried to the edge, grabbing a piece of rebar laying discarded upon the tracks. I spotted Clem and thrust it down. She grabbed it and again I hauled her up.

"Are you okay?" I breathed, almost doubled over from exhaustion.

"I'm fine," she muttered shakily, reaching down to collect Luke's discarded machete.

We hurried to Luke. "Here," I dropped the rebar and he used it to create a step, getting to his feet and hoisting himself back to the surface of the bridge.

We took a moment and caught our breath, hunched over with our hands on our knees.

"Whew," Luke coughed. "Thanks, guys." He straightened up, staring down the bridge. We still had over half its length to cover before we reached the other side. The mountains were just shadows now. It was getting darker.

"Let's keep going."

Clem nodded and we pressed onward. We hadn't made it five steps before Luke threw his right arm out, stopping us in our tracks. His jaw was set, and I followed his eyeline down the bridge. There, heading toward us at a cautious walk, was another person. Another person holding a gun.

"You see him?" he asked, keeping his voice low.

"Yeah," Clem whispered.

"Just play it cool," Luke muttered, not taking his eyes off the stranger. "And you do the talking."

I felt all but forgotten but I didn't care. "Why me?" Clem shot back nervously.

"'Cause I don't wanna get in a fight. You really think he'd shoot a little girl?"

"I'd shoot me," she retorted.

"That's a hell of a thing to say," Luke chided.

"Just saying."

"Well, if it comes to that, I'll shoot him first."

Clem turned to me, wanting advice I couldn't give. We were caught between a rock and a hard place. Any sudden movements would probably make this guy jumpy, and we couldn't retreat. Whoever he was, getting to the ski lodge meant we had to get past him nicely or plow through him. I knew _I _couldn't handle that discussion and apparently Luke couldn't, either. Clem sighed and stepped forward. I clenched my knife.

"Well, who are you?" the stranger called out first.

"Who's asking?" Luke hollered back.

"I am," he shouted back, stilling. I shook my head. Bunch of smart asses. Great.

"What do you want?" Clem tested.

"Saw ya comin' and I thought I'd meet ya halfway," the stranger replied, his gun angled low as he took a few more steps forward, scrutinizing us. I could make out his features now – short, thin guy with a puffy gray coat and khakis that looked like they'd seen better days. He was Asian, maybe. "Huh," he mused. "You don't _look_ like assholes. _Are_ you assholes? No offense or anything, but you know how it is out here."

"We're just people," Clem assuaged.

"Fair enough." He stepped forward again, mere feet from us now. "You folks headed North, like everyone else? I see at least one group a day moving through here. You all look the same."

"Why do you care where we're going?" Clem countered. I looked at her, beginning to think she was adopting the group's suspicions of Carver. I thought this paranoid, but then again, the man _had_ proven how omnipotent he was. Maybe he _did _have eyes everywhere. Maybe this guy was somehow part of his group.

"It's sorta my business, considering I live here."

"You _live _here?"

"Yup. You're in my backyard," he grinned. "I gotta say, you two look like shit. If you need food I've got some canned stuff in that station back there," he pointed at the little white house with the butt of his rifle. My stomach rumbled.

"Well..." Luke started, putting his hands on his hips, "that's awful nice of ya. What's the catch?"

"No catch. I've got plenty."

"Well, alright then," Luke brightened. "Thank you."

"No problem. Nice running into friendly faces out here. Like I said, I've got food and supplies back at the station. And if you want..." he paused, his words trailing off. For a moment it just appeared he was distracted, but his eyes went wide as he gaped at something behind us, and then with a decisive _click_, he raised his rifle. I pivoted.

Nick was standing a few yards away, his own gun aimed square at the stranger.

"No, no, no!" Luke raised his hands. "He's with us! Nick! No!"

I saw Nick's finger twitch. I sheathed my knife in a second and grabbed Clem by the shoulders, yanking her to the floor of the bridge just as the shot rang out, echoing through the valley and reverberating back up from the water. Slowly, we lifted our heads, Clem's hot breath still on my shoulder. The stranger was clutching his neck, blood spraying out from between his splayed fingers as he stumbled, gurgling, over the edge.


	14. Distancing

**Chapter 14 - Distancing**

We had a word for this where I came from. _Clusterfuck_. Or as Pete would say, _FUBAR_. Either way, as we all hurried across the bridge like guilty rats, grateful to see land beneath us again as we doubled over to catch our breath, I was seething. Nick was like a dumb, dangerous dog. A dog that needed to be put down.

"Who the fuck was that?" Rebecca coughed, clutching her stomach as she took a seat on a log.

"It looked like he had a gun on you guys!" Alvin exclaimed.

"He drew on me!" Nick defended. "He was about to shoot!"

"Shut _up_, Nick!" Clem shot, tired and defeated, all her gusto gone. I glared at him, too, before shaking my head and turning away.

"What did you see, Clem? Was that guy gonna shoot?"

"Fuck _you_, Luke!" Nick snapped. "You been on my case the whole week!"

"And why do you think that _is_, Nick!?"

"Because you're an asshole?" He shouted.

"It happened too fast," Clem interjected, always the peacemaker.

"You were right there!" Carlos pushed.

"Either way," Luke continued, "you coulda hit one of them," he gestured to Clem and I. "Or me!"

"Yeah, but I didn't!"

Pointless. Utterly pointless. I straightened up, unsheathing my knife.

"Look, I know Pete was close to you, man, but you can't-"

"Don't fucking _talk_ about him!"

Hearing Pete's name again struck me to the core. I dropped my head, staring at the grass and the knife in my hand, feeling lightheaded, the skin of my fingers. bitten by the northerly wind. The mountain loomed ahead, blocking out the rapidly setting sun.

"Do you think he was with Carver?" Carlos hazarded warily.

"I don't know," Luke muttered, exhausted. "I... no. I don't think so. He fell over the side, anyway."

"We have to keep moving." The wind shifted, making the trees flutter ominously.

"I can't..." Rebecca breathed. "I need a minute."

"Fine," Carlos conceded. "Luke, can I talk to you alone?"

Everyone went their separate ways. I watched Nick take a seat on the bench outside the little white cable car station, his head in his hands. My blood burned with the ache to run, to eject myself from the situation in which I'd landed. Instead, I distracted myself the only way I knew how – putting myself to use.


	15. Peachy

**Chapter 15 -** **Peachy**

The station was not the oasis the stranger had made it out to be. I wondered how he could have been in such good spirits with so meager a haul to his name. It was all but pitifully bare: nothing but a rickety cot, some scattered papers, and empty cans. I pressed my sneaker down on one, rolling it up to face me. A little girl with neat pigtails smiled up at me from the yellowing label. _Peaches_, it used to be. I couldn't even remember what peaches tasted like.

_I had to kill my mom_.

I pivoted slowly. Through the cracked window I could hear Nick speaking softly, and see the brim of Clementine's bloodstained baseball hat. _That sounds weird when I say it out loud. _

Sighing, I crouched, sliding over to the window and ducking beneath the sill, my back against the wall and my hands resting weakly across my knees. _Luke always used to push me. I never wanted to go into business with him. I remember when he sold me on it. His big plan! Some fuckin' plan. A case of beer and he just said 'Nick, we're burnin' daylight!' And that was that. After six months, we were flat broke. But I didn't care. We were havin' fun. I wish I was _like_ him. I wish I could just keep movin' all the time. But I'm just not... built like that. I'm sure they're talking about me right now. 'Luke,'_ he imitated Carlos' thick Spanish drawl, _'he's becoming a danger to the group_.'

Even I managed to grin at that. Carlos _was_ fucking annoying.

_So who was that guy? _Nick continued. _It looked like he was holdin' you guys up. I figured he was with Carver_.

I dropped my head, considering this.

_He seemed nice_, Clem spoke up.

_Damn, _Nick muttered. _What a fuckin' mess. Maybe I am losing it. I don't know anymore. God, I'm hungry. What time is it, anyway? Damn... damn!_ I heard a thunk, like Nick had slammed his fist down on the bench or the wall of the station.

_What's wrong?_ Clem asked.

_I left my watch back at the cabin, _Nick sighed. _It was Pete's. He gave it to me. Never had one like it. Gold._

Slowly, I reached into the pocket of my jacket and withdrew the watch, turning it over in my palms. The last of the day's sun crept through the window, casting a beam of light upon the face that bounced aimlessly around the room, illuminating motes of dust blithely swimming through the air.

_I..._ Clem started. I closed my fingers around the cold metal, for some reason hoping she wouldn't be honest, just this once. _I'm sorry_, she said.

_It's okay, _he whispered, barely audible. _I'm gonna... I'm gonna go talk to them. _

I let my head fall back against the sideboards, listening to the telltale squeak of the bench as Nick rose. A few seconds later, the door swung open and Clem stepped in.

"Hey," she smiled.

I raised my head in an acknowledging nod. "Thank you," I whispered, my eyes burning, the watch cutting imprints into my clenched hand. She spotted the band dangling from my fingers and nodded.

"So... anything in here?" She looked around warily.

I stood, not bothering to dust myself off, and re-pocketed the watch. "Trunk might be worth breaking into. And there's a good knife on the shelf up there." I had spotted it a few minutes before, but felt no urgency about it. Should be her's, anyway – I had a perfectly decent one, after all. She pivoted and reached for the weapon, drawing it out of its sheath. I stepped up behind her, admiring it. Nice handle, good solid wood, and a full tang. It must have been a faithful tool – the previous owner had seen fit to carve his initials into the side. M-something.

"You keep it," I instructed. "You need one."

Clem didn't like weapons but she knew their necessity. I knelt by the trunk, picking at the lock.

"I don't see a key anywhere," Clem remarked. "That man probably had it."

"Time to see how strong that knife is," I cringed, failing to pry open the trunk. Clem knelt next to me, unsheathing the knife and jamming it behind the locking mechanism. She pulled, and the lock gave way with a metallic _snap_. We pushed the lid back, letting it fall open against the wall.

Three more little girls peered up at me, each from their respective can of peaches. I thought they looked like Clem.


	16. The Lodge

**Chapter 16 – The Lodge**

Rebecca and the group fed and night falling, we pressed onward up the mountain, the walkers falling farther and farther behind as the air turned colder. It wasn't long before the trees faded together into one massive clump of distorted shadows and we were all but walking straight up the side of the hill. The earth beneath our feet became hard and cold, threats of snow impending. It would be a brutal winter.

"Look_,_" someone breathed in the darkness. "I wish those still worked."

I turned my head to the sky, the very motion painful. The ski lifts dangled from thick lines of cable, their red seats peeling in the moonlight. The ski lodge was ahead, a triangular silhouette cutting into the navy sky and eliminating the stars.

As we crept to the top, Nick and Carlos at the head, we knelt in the grass.

"Well? What are we waiting for?" Rebecca sounded impatient. Rebecca always sounded impatient.

"We have to be _careful,_" Carlos whispered, his gun trained on the porch of the ski lodge.

"Careful? We've been on the road for five days. My back is _done_ bein' careful."

Not convinced, but with no other options, Carlos led us up to the porch. It was massive, cradling the whole facade of the lodge, overlooking the lifts and the trees below. If not for the moonlight, I wouldn't have been able to see the path we'd taken up, or the bridge in the far beyond.

"Doesn't look like anybody's home," Alvin remarked. Nick paced ahead to the other side of the outlook, looking nervous. "Damn," Alvin stole my attention again, "nailed down tight." I eyed the lodge, and it was true: the windows and glass doors were boarded up, and it wasn't an expert job but the wood seemed sturdy. Fresh, even. I could smell the cedar. Alvin and Carlos disappeared around the side of the wraparound to check the front doors. I pivoted. Clem was leaning against the railing, staring out into the dark from whence we'd come.

"Hey," I nudged her, folding my arms atop the railing at her side.

"Hey," she smiled gently at me. I began to wade through my thoughts, trying to pick one to share with her. What was best? Something funny – a joke to lift her spirits? A piece of melancholy to commiserate with? I sighed, feeling my breath turn cold the instant it touched the night air.

"Could probably get a better view from up top."

I looked over my shoulder. Luke stood there, gazing up at a tower jutting out from the earth a few yards from the porch. It was accessible by a narrow, precarious ladder. I swallowed. Bars would be cold, maybe slippery. But it might be worth it to see that far down the mountain. I thought of Carver and was grateful I could blame the weather for my shiver.

"You'd have an easier time getting up there," Luke remarked, and it sounded suspiciously like avoidance. "Feel like taking a look? It'd be just like climbing a treehouse."

Clem and I stared at the tower. She turned to me. "I never had a treehouse," I shrugged.

"They're not that fun after a while," she smiled weakly. "Come on, let's go."

xxxxxx

Clem ascended first. I waited until she was up a few rungs and followed; Luke stood below and began to laugh, telling us a story of when he was younger, jumping rooftops with his friends. Maybe he detected Clem's fear of heights. I climbed higher, nearly slipping as I gripped an icy patch on one of the rungs. My hands stung with the cold and I painfully readjusted my grip.

"Ah!" Clem gasped, slipping suddenly. Her left foot caught me in the shoulder.

"Woah, woah, woah!" Luke shouted from below. "You're fine, you're fine! Just look at me, you're fine."

"Clem, don't," I cringed, moving my head away from her shoe. "Don't look down, bad idea." Luke couldn't hear me at this height. I caught my breath, raising up on my rung to support Clem's weight. "Step on me if you need to. Almost there."

Clem nodded, opening her eyes. She exhaled deeply and continued up, hoisting herself through the square hole on the tower landing. For a moment, she disappeared, then reappeared, staring down at me with her arms ready. I ascended the rest of the way, grabbing her hand and letting her pull me up.

"Whew," we approached the edge, startling a grackle roosting there. "Made it." She sounded cheerful, reaching into her backpack for the binoculars.

"See anything?" Luke hollered.

"The bridge," Clementine replied. I peered down, squinting against the sheer blackness. The river cut a wide navy strip in my view and I barely made out the silhouette of the bridge, the station, and the cable cars marking the path we'd blazed to the top.

"Clem," I whispered, pointing down to the edge of the river. She refocused the binoculars, and I could almost feel her heart sink. "Let me see." She passed the binoculars into my palm and I stared down at the minute beams of yellow light.

"What is it?" Luke shouted.

"Lights," I replied, full of fascination and dread.

"You don't think it's..." Clem started, tapering off.

"Well, I don't believe in coincidences," I muttered, handing the binoculars back and turning to look down at Luke. But he wasn't there. He was running back to the porch. And from our perch Clem and I could see that we weren't, in fact, alone here at the lodge. "Shit." There were maybe three or four of them, and they had guns.


	17. Old Friends

**Chapter 17 – Old Friends**

Clem and I descended slowly from the tower, landing softly in the grass below, apparently unnoticed by our group or the group of strangers, and crept quietly to the edge of the deck.

"Listen, everyone, just stay calm!" That was Luke. Ever the peacemaker. Or... ever attempting to _be_ the peacemaker.

"Who are you?!" A woman countered. Her voice was high and she had an accent I couldn't place. "Are you trying to rob us?" Clem and I stood on tiptoes, peering up onto the deck.

"Excuse me, honey, but do I look like a fucking _thief?_" That was Rebecca. Aside from knowing her voice anywhere, perpetually laced with sarcasm as it was, I'd grown to trust her to say all the wrong things at all the wrong times.

I looked to my right, but Clem was gone, already on the stairs up to the deck. "Clem!" I whispered hoarsely. She ignored me. "Fuck," I swore, hurrying to catch up with her and drawing my knife in the process.

"Everyone calm down."

"Hey, man, _you_ calm the fuck down."

"Sarah, get behind me!"

"Just tell us who you are!"

We caught up to the group, but they were too focused on the guns in each others' faces to notice us creeping up. I heard Clem's breathing change as she approached Carlos, but her attention wasn't on him. It was on one of the strangers. I reached out to grab her arm but caught only the fibers of her shirt as she pushed through Alvin and Nick to the front of the line. And then, the yelling stopped, and the stranger in the front dropped his rifle.

"Kenny?" Clem whispered, and my blood went cold.

"Clementine?"

I sheathed my knife.

xxxx

The lodge was massive, but despite its size and walls of large windows, I was blanketed with a comforting warmth as we crossed the threshold into the foyer, tracking our filth across the black-and-white tiles. I stared up at the ceiling. It was so high it almost disappeared in darkness. If not for the absence of stars, I could have been staring directly at the sky.

"Please," one of the strangers spoke, a middle-aged balding man in a red sweater. I'd heard Kenny call him Walt. "Make yourselves at home. You can leave your things on the bench there." He smiled at us.

"The hell we will," Rebecca countered, folding her arms. I narrowed my eyes – despite her perpetually poor execution, she had a good point. I fingered the hilt of my knife, staring at the bench.

"Yeah, I'm holding onto my rifle, thanks," Nick agreed.

"You're our guests here," Walt's voice deepened. "There's no need to worry."

"Tell him to put _his_ gun down, then," Nick gestured to Kenny, who stood at the top of the landing still clutching his rifle. Nick stiffened, maybe surprised that for once, he agreed with his cousin.

"Kenny?" Walt enjoined. _Huh_, I thought, perplexed by the man's sense of fair play. Now to see if Kenny was the kind of man I thought he was, my only impression of him being the hero of many of the few stories Clem ever told me about her life before me, even before Christa.

"You vouch for these people, Clem?" Kenny looked at her. "If you tell me they're good, then I'm good."

I couldn't blame her for feeling unsure. "They're cool," she replied. It was damned but necessary lie.

"Dad, look!" Sarah whispered obliviously from behind us. "A Christmas tree!"

"Not now, Sarah," I heard Carlos reply.

"Isn't it great?" one of the women, _Sarita_, chimed in, trying to ease the tension. "We found it all in storage, and we still get power from the wind turbine outside. Aren't the lights beautiful?"

"They're amazing," Sarah replied in quiet awe.

Kenny stepped down from the stairs, and as though Clem and he had come to some silent understanding, he laid his rifle atop the bench, prompting our group to relieve themselves of their own weapons. Clem smiled at him, and I bristled for some reason, laying down her own purple backpack. As she turned away, Kenny and I locked eyes for a moment and I involuntarily clenched the hilt of my knife. He tensed, putting his dominant shoulder to me and saying nothing.

xxxx

Fifteen minutes later, you'd think our groups were old friends. Well, aside from Clementine and Kenny, who in fact _were_ the oldest of friends, everyone – even Rebecca – had settled down for the bleak night. Which, for Rebecca, meant whispering quietly to Alvin when she thought no one could hear about all her worries – the baby, the weather, the walkers, and of course, _Carver_. The group had spread their bedrolls on the northern side of the second-floor landing, which wrapped around the entire back wall of the lodge, offering a few down to the first level. Clementine had been too distracted to nest just yet, but I set my rucksack on the southern side of the landing, leaning against the rail and surveying everyone.

Walt was at the kitchenette just below me, humming something sweet and stirring a large pot of bubbling brown liquid. As the smell wafted up I caught the scent of peaches again. Sarita and Sarah were swooning over a box of shiny Christmas baubles, looping them one-by-one onto the branches of the great pine tree, behind the plush set of couches where Clem and Kenny sat, bathed in the orange glow of the magnificent fireplace. Clem had one leg pulled up beneath her and they talked inaudibly, backs hunched toward each other in familiarity, at one point looking at a map lying on the coffee table. I felt the pack of cigarettes in my chest pocket and buried my craving for now.

Something gnawed at the pit of my stomach and though it and I were no strangers to each other, the times you spend absent your loneliness always give the naive spirit hope it will never return. It always did. Always does. I watched Sarita pace over, lay a loving hand on Kenny's shoulder. They were clearly a couple. Kenny gestured to her and then to Clem, making the official introduction. Clem brightened suddenly and looked around the lodge for something. Search fruitless, she shrugged, and I realized that she was probably searching for me. The loneliness subsided some, replaced by guilt.

"Hey, Walt!" Kenny raised his voice, peering over his shoulder. Beneath me, Walt looked up from his boiling mush. "Where's Matthew? He still out there rootin' around?"

There was another one? My brow furrowed. Made sense to designate a group member to go scout or hunt or scavenge, I supposed. But it was a long way up the mountain and pitch dark now. An intelligent person would have been back by now or camping somewhere along the valley we'd followed to the top. And while we hadn't scoured the woods, we hadn't seen anything. In fact, the only place as safe as the lodge would have been was...

Then I remembered.

_I stood, not bothering to dust myself off, and re-pocketed the watch. The station creaked as the winter wind buffeted it. "Trunk might be worth breaking into. And there's a good knife on the shelf up there." I had spotted it a few minutes before, but felt no urgency about it. Clementine pivoted and reached for the weapon, drawing it out of its sheath. I stepped up behind her, admiring it. Nice handle, good solid wood, and a full tang. It must have been a faithful tool – the previous owner had seen fit to carve his initials into the side. M-something. _

I decided to have the cigarette, after all.


	18. Settling In

**Chapter 18 - Settling In**

When Kenny, Luke, and Nick disappeared outside to bring in supplies before the storm hit, I emerged from my corner to find Clem. But before I could reach her, she was at the bar, talking to Walt. Sighing heavily, I joined her.

"Hey, Clementine," he greeted jovially, brown eyes bright. "Who's your friend? I don't think we've been introduced."

"This is Scout," she smiled at me. I forced myself to raise my head, nodding at Walt.

"You two settling in okay?"

"Yeah, thanks," Clem replied.

"Excellent. Want to help me prepare a little dinner?"

Clem and I peered into the pot of bubbling brown liquid. This close, I could tell it was beans and the smell of peaches was almost unbearable. Beans and peaches. _Well_, I thought, _it would all go to the same place, anyway_.

"So how do you know Kenny, Clementine?"

I felt Clem's eyes on me but kept my head down, brushing it off. "Oh, well," she started, "we were in a group before. That was almost two years ago."

I looked up. I hadn't considered just how long it had, in fact, been. Two years. A lot changes in two years.

"He and Sarita have been a huge help," Walter explained. "Matthew and I barely knew what to do around here the first week." I felt a chill, and hoped no one noticed. "But Kenny, he never slows down."

"I met him after it happened," she muttered.

"When he was with Lee?" Walt stopped stirring, glancing sorrowfully toward the windows by the fireplace. Outside, the distorted silhouettes of him and the boys were moving piles of supplies from the yard to the deck. "Yeah, he only told us a little. Connecting with people is so important," he mused. "I don't know what I'd do without Matthew."

My head pounded and I shut my eyes.

"Hey, you alright? Scout?" The voice sounded tinny, distant, as if shouted from across a field. I opened my eyes, realized it was for me, and nodded quickly.

"Yeah, yeah. Sorry. I uh, I get headaches sometimes."

"We'll get some food and good rest into you, you'll be right as rain a few days," Walt smiled, again. I nodded in thanks, glancing sideways at Clementine, who was eyeing me peculiarly. "Gosh, you two remind me of my students," Walt continued reminiscing. "I can't imagine what it's like growing up in the middle of all this."

"Everyone underestimates us," Clem replied matter-of-factly, with a hint of resentment.

"I expect you've used that to your advantage."

"Sometimes," Clem shrugged, almost drawing a laugh out of me. She could be so standoffish sometimes, and it came out of nowhere. I doubt I'd appreciate her being that way with me, but directed at other people it was an attitude I'd come to love.

"Smart girls," Walt chuckled. "Hmm. Almost done. Would you do me the honor of tasting the first course of Le Walter Surprise? An autumnal legume salad with a peach roux."

The looks on our faces must have been priceless.

"It's peaches and beans," Walt explained, stifling a laugh. "It's all we've got. Huh," he muttered, reaching for an empty peach can. "Striking resemblance."

xxxxxx

Though Walt had disappeared with the vat of _Surprise, _I began to feel as though there were ears everywhere, and nowhere inside the lodge would be safe to tell Clementine what we'd done to Matthew. And I wondered if maybe _she'd_ already figured it out and like the wise soul she was was holding it inside, waiting like I was for the opportune moment. Anyway, she'd probably just say that passing the night in the lodge was more important than sharing the secret – the secret would get us out on our asses in the snow, or worse.

So I remained silent, following her as we explored the lodge. The thick, tall columns were decorated with strings of yellow Christmas lights, casting a cozy glow on us as we passed by, pausing at what was designated an eating area. Two long tables with narrow benches alongside were strewn with empty cups and bowls. Seemed all the members of the group had their own place and probably ate out of the same dishes every night, reducing the need to wash them.

"Reminds me of school," Clem commented on the setup.

_After the bell rang, our teacher ushered us out the door alphabetically by last name. I liked that, because I got to be ahead of Billy Driscoll, who was a constant thorn in my side and any reason to get ahead of him was a good enough one for me. I stepped into the hallway, ignoring his jibes, and stood on the silver line between floor tiles like the teacher said to always do. Next to us, the older grades filed up, and we were the first to go outside because Kindergarten was always first. _

_Today it was darker than it should have been. The clouds were stifling in the heat of the Georgia spring and I looked for my daddy's car but he wasn't there. And after a while, I was the only one left. _

_And then the squad car arrived, flashing its lights for me. _

"Doesn't it look like a cafeteria?" Clem's voice jarred me. I rubbed my nose, shaking it off.

"Uh, yeah, a little."

She turned to me. "Are you alright?"

So she didn't know about Matthew. What small comfort I had taken in the possibility was gone. "Yeah, I'm fine. Maybe we should... check on everybody."

"Well, now I _know_ you're not fine," Clem replied, hazarding a smile. I looked up, worried she was going to force it out of me right then, and I wouldn't be able to stop myself. "Come on, it's a good idea, anyway."  
>Sarah was still going at that tree, Sarita guiding her through the finer points of ornamentation while singing softly to the girl. "What is that song?" Sarah asked.<p>

"Good King Winceslas. It's my favorite Christmas carol," Sarita smiled warmly. "Oh, Clem, we could use some help. And hello, who's this?"

"Scout," I replied, growing weary of introductions. Who would have thought that during the apocalypse nametags would have been of some use.

"Well, Scout, would you help Sarah string the tinsel?"

"Sure," I pulled my hands out of my pockets and accepted the bundle of silver strands, pacing to Sarah's side and giving her half to toss across the facade of the tree. As the limbs caught the strands, they glistened in the firelight.

"So Clem," Sarita began, adjusting a red ornament. "You knew Kenny before. It must be incredible to see him again. When I met him... well... he's so different now. But you must be so glad."

"It's... weird to see him now," she returned somberly, making me pause.

"I'll bet. But he's so happy to see _you_. And I'm glad you're with us, too." I deposited the last of my tinsel near the lower branches and stepped back to admire the tree. "Perfect," Sarita remarked proudly. "Now we just need the topper."

"We always had an angel on top of our tree," Sarah offered.

"My family didn't celebrate Christmas, but I still love the decorations," Sarita replied. "Maybe there's something in one of these boxes we can use. Clem, Scout, why don't you take a look?"

"I'll check down here," I offered, nodding to Clementine, who headed for the stairs to the second-floor landing. I watched her go, pacing into the living area and scanning the boxes there, spotting what I was really interested in on the coffee table. Glancing over my shoulder I saw Sarah and Sarita putting the finishing touches on the tree, their backs to me. Reaching down, I picked up the map.

_Lone Pine Winter Park Trail Map_. There were red lines drawn over all the walkable trails, some of which would clearly become unpassable during the dead winter months. I wondered how long the group had been in the lodge. As homey as it was, it was no fortress, and a winter couldn't be survived here, not without stocking up first. I spotted the resort on the map, traced my finger to the river. It was barely a thumb-length away.

_"__What's your name, girl?"_

_"__Scout," I replied. "Scout Carver."_

_"__Well, I'll be damned," he muttered, smiling wickedly. "You've grown up. Survived." I felt an unwanted pang of pride that he didn't sound surprised by the concept. After all, I'd been trained into strength, into an appropriate set of skills. _

_"__Learned from the best."_

I folded the map along its well-worn creases and tucked it into my chest pocket, turning to follow Clem up the stairs. "No luck?" she asked as we ascended, the fire throwing our shadows all over the walls. I shook my head.

"It's crazy," Rebecca's voice floated into earshot. "Why would they follow us this far?"

"We can't be sure," Carlos replied in obvious exhaustion.

"It's been a week, man. We gotta be outta the woods," Alvin rationalized.

"We can't be sure. They might be tracking us."

"Tracking? Who do you think they are? Ninjas?"

I wanted to roll my eyes. Tracking wasn't an art, it was a skill. A skill anyone could learn. If it _was_ an art it was only the art of paying some goddamn attention every once in a while.

"Clem," Rebecca spotted us. "Luke said you two saw some people in the valley?"

"We saw lights," she hazarded. "Like flashlights, maybe."

"Which way did they go?"

"Back into the woods," she replied. Which was true, the lights had appeared to... disappear. But then Luke had run off, and we'd run off after him. Who knows where they'd gone since then. It had been at least an hour, which was about half the time it took us to get to the lodge from where we'd seen the lights in the first place.

"We can't take any chances," Carlos deemed. "We leave at dawn."

"But we're safe here for tonight, right?" Rebecca pleaded.

"Clementine, Scout," Carlos turned to us. "You talked to that man Walter, right? What did he say?"

"He talked a lot about someone else. Matthew."

It wasn't exactly helpful information, not to Carlos. "Just talk to the rest of them. They seem to trust _you_, Clem. See what you can find out."

Once again, we were doing the group's dirty work. And Carlos' threat to ship us all out at dawn only inflamed me for a moment before I realized that A) it was probably the same decision I would have made, and B) he wasn't my leader to follow, anyway.


	19. Stories

**Chapter 19 - Stories**

Clem managed to find a star and I held her shoulders as she leaned over the second-floor railing to slide it atop the peak of the Christmas tree.

"Ah," Sarita looked up. "Beautiful. You know, now that you and your friends are here, this place is starting to feel like a real home. Matthew and Walter are amazing people for letting Kenny and I stay. Honestly, it's dangerous to be this kind, but they can't help it. Wait until you meet Matthew, he's a real character." Clem and I started back down the stairs. "The first time he met me he called me _Rita_." She rolled the _R_ and giggled.

"Sarita," I stopped her. "What does Matthew look like?"

"Oh, he's a handsome man. A little shorter than Walter." I smiled faintly, but that told me nothing. And before I could press her, she'd changed the subject, asking Clem about Kenny. Kenny before.

"Well, you four have been busy." Speak of the devil.

"Isn't it great?" Sarita pivoted, smiling at Kenny. Her project done, she gathered a remaining box into her arms.

"I got it, hon," he offered gently, wrapping his arms around hers.

"I think I can manage, Ken," she replied gracefully.

"I said I _got_ it," he replied, pulling it from her grip a little more forcefully than was necessary. I didn't miss Sarita's face fall, despite the fact that she recovered quickly, covering the strange moment with a quip about the man always having to play the gentleman.

"But I'll tell you," she continued, "when I met him, he couldn't lift a fly. Why don't you go see if your friends are ready for dinner?"

"Okay," she acquiesced, ducking my raised eyebrows and going to fetch Rebecca and Alvin.

xxxxxx

Clem and I sat across from Kenny and Sarita, next to Walt. Kenny dominated the conversation, and said little to me, which phased me none. I ate gratefully, scraping at the remains with my spoon.

"So, Clem, what's the deal with the kid? What's his name... Luke? He in charge?" I looked over my shoulder at the guy, hunched over his own bowl with his back to us, that empty seat he saved to his left devoid of the person it was clearly meant for. "You trust him?"

"Kenny, please," Sarita placated.

"Sarita," he scolded, "we don't know these people."

"They seem nice."

"Yeah, well, gators seem nice, too," he groused, "'til they bite your damn arm off."

"We don't know yet," Clem replied pensively. "We haven't been with them long."

"We?" Kenny's brow furrowed.

"Oh, right," Clem straightened up, nudging me. "This is Scout."

Kenny stared at me, his eyes hard. I stiffened, but then his face softened and he smiled jovially. "Well, Scout, it's a pleasure. You two met up when Clem joined this outfit?"

"No, we've been together for a while," Clem explained. "I was with Christa and Omid after Lee..." her voice faded. "And then it was just me and Christa and Scout found us. Just in time, too."

"What do you mean?" he pressed.

"It was getting to be winter and we were running out of food. Scout's a really good tracker, got us through it. That was last year. Then we got separated from Christa and this group found us."

"They did a good thing, taking you in," Sarita smiled warmly. I shuddered, remembering the walker bursting through the wall of the shed. The whole thing seemed so twisted now.

"Still," Kenny's eyes were on Clem again, as though neither Sarita nor I existed, "It takes a while before you know a man for real." I looked at Clem. She just shrugged and smiled lightly, the way she did when she disagreed with you but didn't want to say it. Glancing sideways at Kenny, I realized he didn't know this about her. I'd been with her for almost two years, and she'd known Kenny only a couple of months. Just how long _did_ it take to know a man for real?

"That guy, Alvin," Kenny dipped his head forward, "he says they're on the run."

Trust Alvin to tell a complete stranger such a thing. Between him and Rebecca the stupidity quota for this group was met and exceeded. "Some people are after them," Clem replied.

"Well, you don't have to worry about that no more," he assured, "they'll go tomorrow and you can stay here." Whether he meant _you_ as in the _both_ of us, Clem and I, or just her, I couldn't tell.

"Absolutely," Sarita agreed. "You stay with us as long as you want."

"She's stayin' for good!" Kenny grinned. So just Clem, then. Man had tunnel-vision.

"If that's what she wants."

"Of course she does! Right, Clem?"

Clem was silent.


	20. Cigarettes and Confessions

**Chapter 20 – Cigarettes**

Dinner devolved quickly from Kenny's outburst and Clem and I ventured out to the back of the lodge, leaning against the deck railing and staring into the darkness of the treeline. A gazebo stood a few yards away to the left, the wind turbine hummed just opposite on the right, and the night air bit at the skin uncovered by our upturned jacket collars. I reached into my pocket and withdrew a cigarettes. Clem flipped open her lighter and the tip ignited, warming our palms for a moment.

I exhaled deeply, the smoke mixed with the cloud of my breath.

"You know that I wouldn't stay without you," she whispered. I sunk a little, sighing and looking at her. In the near-pitch darkness, the only light was the reflection of the cigarette's glow in her eyes, and the effect was chilling.

"Clem... I have to tell you something."

"I already know," she tore her eyes away from mine, staring into the woods again. "Matthew... he was the one on the bridge."

It wasn't my most pressing thought, but her attention on this I considered a blessing in disguise. "They're expecting him back," I continued. "They'll go look in the morning."

"They won't find anything. His body's either sunk or halfway to the next state by now."

"Walter will figure it out."

"Maybe we can explain it to him. It was an accident."

"Clementine," I reasoned. "When they find out what we've done... Walter... he won't let us stay."

"Maybe Kenny and Sarita could come with us, then. Kenny was talking about moving on-"

"Carver-"

Clem pulled away from the railing, startling me. "We don't even _know_ if that _was_ Carver down there. It could have just been more travelers, staying in the station tonight. He could have made it up here by now if he wanted to."

"He's not stupid, Clem," I retorted. "He's not just going to try and jump us."

"How do you know?"

"He doesn't know how many of us there are now. Ah!" I gasped as the cigarette burned down to the last nub, singeing my fingers. I dropped it on the deck, squashing it out with a booted toe. "Clem, in the morning, we should tell Walt the truth. He won't want us to stay and you have to convince Kenny to go with you. And when you're safe, leave the group. Carver's catching up, if not tomorrow then the next day. We're not stuck with them anymore now that you have Kenny back."

"You don't even like Kenny and you want to group up with him?" I dropped my head, pushing my hands into my pockets before looking up again, and then, Clem understood. She nodded once, slowly, exhaling so deep it was as though the very breath was leaving her soul and she looked at me and said, "you're leaving, aren't you?"

"It's...time," I forced out quietly, guiltily.

"I don't understand," Clementine whispered, her voice cracking and eyes reddening. I sighed, shaking my head and staring at the ground. My muscles ached and trembled, and I unclenched my fists, running my fingers over the thin indentations of my nails in the flesh. "Scout... why won't you tell me what's going on?"

_Dad? Daddy!_

My chest burned.

"Where will you go?"

"I don't know," I whispered. "I thought Macon at first but-"

"Lee came from Macon. I was there. It's a ghost town." She was desperate now. Anything to make me stay.

"You've said," I whispered sorrowfully, staring into the darkness to avoid her gaze.

"Then where?" she pressed. "Where is better than with people you know and trust?"

"Trust?" I could have laughed at how sour the word tasted, turning to glare at her as if it offended me. "I'm not like you, Clem. I can't just look behind me and see someone there. There isn't a line of people waiting to take care of me, not like Kenny wants to take care of you. Even Nick and Rebecca, when she's not bitching about something. Even Pete." I swallowed, wringing my hands against the railing. "There's something about you."

"What?" she begged.

"I don't know." I admitted. "But it makes you easy to love. And I'm..." I hesitated, only then hearing how the words spilled forth in precise, robotic tempo, the way I had rehearsed them in my head. Now they ruled me but I had paused long enough to think it through one more time, what I wanted so desperately to tell her. How many times had I told Clementine this story in the back of my own mind? How many times had I spared her from it?

"I'm just not like you," I finished.

"What if Carver comes for you? What if he comes for us when you're gone?"

"He won't come for you," I breathed.

"How do you know?"

I looked at her, exhaling slowly. "Because I'll ask him not to."

Clem's brow furrowed and I stilled my tongue, turning inward again. "Scout, I don't-"

"Hey, Clem!" someone shouted, making us both turn. Walter was at the back door, wielding a lantern. "Can you help me with something out front?"

Sighing, she turned away, heading toward him. "Clem," I whispered. She looked over her shoulder at me. I faltered. "I'm sorry you're involved in all this."

"You're not my keeper, Scout."

I swallowed, dropping my head as the words attacked my gut. Clem sighed and approached me again, speaking softly so Walter wouldn't hear. "You act like you're the only one who has any control over anything. I know I can't expect you not to keep secrets from me but I wish you wouldn't. I've known Kenny for a long time but I don't want to do anything or go anywhere without _you_. You can't stop me, just like I can't stop you."

I met her eyes, glistening even in the blackness, and nodded once. She returned it, stony-faced, and turned to leave me there in the dark. I leaned back against the railing, facing the lodge. It loomed over me, its peak jutting obstinately into the black sky as the clouds began to obscure the stars.

Just as I thought to breathe out again, a twig snapped somewhere to my right and I whipped around, crouching low and reaching for my knife, which as I'd forgotten, wasn't there. I clenched my empty hand and squinted against the darkness. A figure emerged from the treeline, moving on a trajectory perpendicular to me, toward the lodge. I couldn't tell if it was a walker or not, so I crept closer, skirting across the deck and flattening myself against the wall of the lodge. The figure disappeared from view and I approached the corner, peering around. In the light of Walt's lantern I saw her, a woman, her face was gaunt and ghostly beneath a tight ponytail of red hair, but she was alive. With Kenny's rifle on her gut she had her hands up, looked every bit the stray she was, probably hoping for a handout. I started forward, but didn't get far. Something rough clapped over my mouth and I was yanked backward into someone's arms. The hand against my face pressed the cloth closer – I could taste the chloroform on my teeth.


	21. Leading By Example

**Chapter 21 – Leading By Example**

I awoke violently, gagging, like a swimmer coming up for air after too long underwater. I struggled to breathe, rolling to my side in the dirt and retching futilely. My hands wouldn't obey my commands to move and I realized they were tied behind my back. A pair of boots came into view and I craned my neck up. My captor stood above me, dropping the broken wrapper of smelling salts onto the ground.

"Nice of you to join us," Carver grinned. "Troy."

_Troy_ grabbed me by the arms and hauled me up, my head spinning. He walked me over to a nearby campfire and sat me down on a log. Snarling, I shook off his grip, and he stepped back, replacing his hands on his rifle and watching me like a hungry dog awaiting orders from its master. I tested my bonds as Carver paced around the fire, taking a seat on a log opposite, placing the flames between him and I. I looked around – it was a meager camp, clearly not designed to last more than a few hours. A couple of men looked up at me but I could see no one else. The trees towered above us.

I turned my attention back to Carver, setting my jaw. "What are you waiting for?"

"Just look at you," he remarked, turning up the corner of his mouth. "Got your mama's eyes."

It sounded like something a relative would say to you, again and again until you were tired of hearing it. But that wasn't the world now. No relatives, no photos of relatives. Truthfully I couldn't even remember what my mother looked like, and even my father – though I saw him in Carver – was like a ghost to me.

"But everything else is your daddy's, ain't it? Funny, though, I don't see much of him in ya."

I didn't speak. I tried to imagine Carver and my father as young brothers together. And I realized I never thought about who was older. It had to have been Carver.

"What do you want?" I whispered, rotating my wrists inside the ropes.

"Right to the point. I like that," he replied, his voice gravelly. Despite the circumstances, it reminded me of Before, and was almost comforting as I remembered so much time spent on his lap, listening to him tell stories about his job, the handcuffs on his utility belt kneading at the small of my back. He'd been like a superhero in my eyes. And as I looked at him now, though he appeared the same, I couldn't believe how far we'd come. And how little I really did know about him. He straightened up, his face hardening. "Tell me about that ski lodge."

"Why do you want with those people?" I tested.

Carver eyed me for a moment before sighing deeply. "Do you know what the greatest sin is, darlin'? Ingratitude." His eyes glinted in the firelight. "I took those people in, gave them beds and a roof over their head, food to eat, and a family. And what do they do? Run off, stealing valuable supplies and causing me and the rest of mine some undue burden tryin' to hunt them down."

"Why not just let them go?" I countered. "Because of Rebecca?"

Carver stood, illuminated by the wisps of orange tinder floating above the fire, and came to stand before me. I swallowed, but kept eye contact. "Now what kind of father would I be if I abandoned my only child?"

_Dad? Dad... The walker hissed and spat. Daddy!_

"The baby's Alvin's," I returned. Carver's face hardened and he squatted down to my level.

"Tell me again what they did to you when you first met them."

My breath hitched in my throat and I dropped my eyes to the ground.

"And you _trust_ them?" he pressed.

I raised my head. "I don't trust anyone."

In the darkness, he smiled eerily. "And you have me to thank for raisin' you right." He straightened up. "Though I'm not sure how I feel about you smoking."

I looked up, shocked. It was true, the half-consumed pack of Camels was still in my jacket pocket, but if the man could smell it on me in this frigid a climate, well... it at least explained where some of my tracking abilities had come from.

"Any left?"

What a tone change. I felt like I was being interrogated by the principal of my elementary school. "No."

Carver clearly didn't believe me, and nodded to Troy, who set his rifle against the backside of the log and reached for my lapel. I'd been working my bonds for as long as we'd been talking. As his grubby hands dug through the pockets of my jacket I quickly slipped my wrists free of the ropes and before anyone could stop me I pressed my hands down on the back of his head and rammed his face into my left knee.

Troy screamed, flailing backward, doubled-over against the log, clutching his nose. Hot, sticky blood poured through his fingers. "You little bitch!" he sputtered, spraying his fluids across my jacket. I scrambled back, but wasn't fast enough to evade his grasp.

Then we heard the gunshot and stilled. I pressed my hands to my ears to stop the ringing, squinting upward as Carver lowered the barrel of his Colt Python from the sky and dropped it back into its holster. Then he advanced. I flinched, but he stepped over me, grabbing Troy by the lapels of his jacket and hauling him off the log and onto his back in the dirt. Carver straddled him and pinched his nose between his thumb and forefinger. I heard Troy whimper as the cartilage snapped back into place. I saw his legs still as Carver raised his arm, and Troy made no sound when the blow came to the side of his face. For a moment, my heart seemed to stop, and Carver stood, towering over me. I reeled back but his arm was lightening fast, the back of his hand colliding with my cheek so hard I tasted blood. I clutched my face, feeling cold tears against my palms. He was unmoving, snatching me by the collar and dragging me to my feet.

"Don't make me ask again," he threatened. Breathing hard, I reached a trembling hand into my chest pocket, pulling the carton of cigarettes free and dropping it into his waiting hand.

"You get one free pass, kiddo," he clutched me tighter, drawing me uncomfortably close. "Lie to me again and you _will _regret it. Isn't that right, Troy?"

Troy was getting to his feet now, still covering his nose and glaring at me. "Yes, sir," he muttered, soldier-like.

"Do you and I have an understanding?" Carver turned back to me.

It would be one of the only times Troy led by example. "Yes, sir," I whispered hoarsely.


	22. Uncle Bill

**Chapter 22 – Uncle Bill**

Troy recovered quicker than I did, and in my daze I hardly felt him grab me by the lapel again and sit me back on the log to face Carver. I licked the inside of my cheek where the flesh was beginning to swell, coated in a thin layer of saliva-diluted blood. Beneath my right eye the skin was tender, and I knew it would bruise. But what was another bruise, after all? I wiped my mouth on the back of my sleeve and Troy grabbed my wrists, yanking them up into the small of my back.

"Leave it," Carver ordered, retaking his seat across from me and lighting one of the cigarettes he'd just confiscated, taking a long drag and breathing it out. Troy released me gruffly, stepping back a few feet and standing at weak attention with his rifle at his waist. "Now," Carver continued, holding the Camel between his middle and forefinger, "tell me about that ski lodge, and don't make me ask again."

My mind raced, but before I could consider where my loyalties laid, I was speaking, and I couldn't stop. I told him first that it was massive, boarded up in the front but nowhere else. The floor-to-ceiling windows were its greatest weakness, and the second-floor wraparound balcony was merely for show: the lodge was meant as a place for skiers to recoup: eat, nap, sit around a fire for an hour or two before making their way to the slopes. Its greatest qualities were its steady stream of electricity from the wind turbine, large supply of food, and community.

"How many people were there when you arrived?" He pressed, unreadable.

I hesitated, considering lying, exaggerating the numbers on the off-chance I could either miraculously steer Carver away or buy the group some time to get out. They only needed until morning. "It's a big group," I covered. "We met one of their scouts in the woods on the way up. They're organized, prepared to last the winter."

"One of their scouts, huh?" Carver stood, tossing the cigarette butt into the fire. I swallowed. "That wouldn't be the one that little Nick shot off the bridge, would it?"

It had been them down by the river. They had been_ that_ close to us the entire time? I looked around, for the first time noticing that Carver, Troy, and I weren't alone. There were a couple of tents set up a few yards away, barely visible in the darkness, and more men milling around, watching us. "How many scouts did you say there were?" Carver brought me back to earth, propping his foot on the log next to me.

"I'm not sure-"

"Now, now," he interrupted, his tone chilling me to the bone. "You can't have already forgotten what I said about lying to me." I fell silent, my cheek throbbing. "We're gonna have to play catch-up, you and I," he bent down, folded his arms atop his raised knee, scrutinizing me. "I know you remember the rules, Scout."

I did. I did remember The Rules. Who knew that The Rules would be so sacrosanct as to survive the apocalypse? But if they still governed my uncle's life, then they explained his actions, and I realized that in my fear of him there was a respect _for_ him, and despite either, I would be held to the same standard as anyone else in his outfit. I glanced back at Troy, imagining the twin bruises we would have in a few hours' time.

Carver tapped me on the chin, snapping me back to attention. "I know you don't give a damn about these people," he lowered his voice. "Any more than they gave a damn about whether or not you were gonna live or die in that shed. What I can't figure out is why you won't give them up to me? I mean them no harm, I only want to bring them home."

Maybe it was true. From what Pete said about Carver's compound, it _was_ safer than anyplace immediately outside. Food, water, walls. I even remembered thinking that they were stupid to leave such a place, regardless of how bad they made it out to be. And how bad could it be? Even forced labor with a hot meal and a bed to sleep in at the end of every day was better than roughing it. Had to be. But I had a bad feeling. A persistent biting at my gut that said it wasn't the place for Clementine. She shouldn't be caged. Couldn't be. Someone had to be free, and it wasn't me. I wasn't meant for it. I was meant for this.

"Clementine," I spoke. It was the only word I could get out, and as it rolled off my tongue it felt like a betrayal. Carver's brow furrowed, but then he remembered. "That girl you were with back at the cabin."

"She's not one of them," I entreated desperately. "She's leaving the lodge in the morning, with the rest of the people that were already there. I'll tell you whatever you want to know about the rest of them, but let her go, please. She does better on her own."

"No one does better on their own," he replied darkly. "And besides, it's much too late for that."

He looked up, past me, into the darkness. Dazed, I turned. A woman approached us, and as she neared the fire, the light of the flames illuminated her gaunt face, the face that appeared almost dead to me, beneath the mop of red hair in a ponytail. And I knew then what Carver had done.

"You see, Scout," he turned back to me, "I always get my answers, one way or another."

The woman stopped behind me, and began to speak. "Our group's still there," her voice could have been kindly in another life, comforting even. I was breathing hard, my head pounding. "There's three strangers up there manning the place. Couple of guys and a woman."

"Weapons?"

"One of the guys had a rifle, but I didn't see anything else when they let me in."

_Fuck, fuck, fuck. They let her in? _She dropped something near her feet. I looked over my shoulder at the box of food: canned peaches and beans. _Fuck. _I knew it had to be Walter. His heart was so damn big. No sense of self-preservation at all.

"Good. Thank you, Bonnie," Carver smiled. "Tell the others to be prepared. We go tonight."

"Yes, sir," she replied, collecting the box and disappearing toward the tents.

Carver's hand fell upon my shoulder and I looked up, lost. "It'll be mighty good to have you home, darlin,'" he smiled. "I promise, nothing's gonna happen to your little friend. Not as long as she minds the Rules. I trust you to show her the way." _Please, Uncle Bill, _I wanted to say. _Please, for me, let her go_. His face softened some, the smile faded. "You don't have to run anymore, Scout. I'm taking care of you now."


	23. Family

**Chapter 23 - Family**

We proceeded through the woods on foot, Troy leading with Bonnie and the two other men from Carver's temporary campsite. When we were close enough to hear the shooting, Carver didn't even flinch, but kept walking, his hand on my shoulder, like we were strolling through the goddamn park on a breezy Sunday afternoon. It wasn't until we approached the treeline and the dark, monumental outline of the lodge came into view, that he drew his gun.

As always, we heard the walkers before we saw them. A small herd had crept up on my comrades and was surrounding the lodge with the threat of taking them all down one by one. I heard Carlos shouting and strained my eyes looking for Clementine in the dim red glow of the wind turbine's lantern. It had stopped spinning. I saw Walter, running toward the rest of the group, and Carver yanked me back to his side.

"You stay right behind me," he ordered, brooking no room for argument.

"Yes, sir," I breathed, knowing it was the one and only response he would find acceptable. No one ever said I was a slow learner.

"Let's go."

The five of us moved past the edge of the treeline into the open air of the lodge's yard. I could see the gazebo in the distance 'round the other side but the field was strewn with walkers. Bonnie, Troy, and the two other men flanked Carver and I, raising their guns and firing. I shut my eyes and turned my back to Carver's, and considered running right back into the woods. But only briefly. Take note: it's always a bad idea to hightail it off on your own with no supplies or weaponry.

And anyway, I reminded myself, I belonged wherever Carver was.

The shooting slowed, and then came altogether to a stop. Carver ordered us forward in our diamond formation. Carlos, Nick, Sarita, and Walter slowly lowered their weapons. Carlos's eyes found me and widened in fear. I knew he couldn't have suspected I was with Carver, not having known the man before. I was, for all intents and purposes, a hostage. This was Carver's design.

"Howdy, folks," Carver grinned, circling the group like a lion herding its prey. I looked around for Clem, straining my eyes against the darkness. Carver stopped in front of Carlos. "Where's Rebecca?"

The good doctor spat in his face. Carver didn't flinch, wiping his cheek with the back of one hand and managing a sly smile before clocking Carlos across the jaw so hard his waist buckled. The back door to the lodge burst open then and Sarah came careening out into the scene, rushing into her father's arms, but Carver was done. His focus was fixed on the lodge, on Rebecca.

"Inside," he ordered.

xxxxxx

Carver's brigade ushered the group through the glass doors and into the lobby. The lodge was completely dark, save for the pitiful wisps of orange still glowing beneath the logs of the fireplace. Bonnie and the men spread out while Troy seated the hostages against the kitchen bar. I thought of how, just a few hours ago, Walter was whipping up dinner and the boombox was playing soft piano. It wasn't a home now. It would be laid to waste, like everything else.

Carver placed his hand in the small of my back and pushed me toward the bar. I went, getting down on my knees and locking my hands behind me as Troy knelt and zip-tied them together. Then, as Carver's attention was stolen from us, Troy grabbed a subtle fistful of my hair, yanking me back into him. I felt his breath on my neck. "Let's see you get out of these," he threatened, quickly releasing me and tightening the zip-ties with an almighty yank.

He stood and resumed his post behind Carver. Carlos leaned toward me. "Are you alright?"

My fingers tingled. I was losing circulation. I looked at the doctor, Sarah beside him – petrified. "Where are they?"

Carlos shook his head as one of Carver's men began to speak.

"Bonnie, you see the size of this place? Fuckin' huge! How are we gonna cover these guys and look for the other ones, too?"

"Johnny," Bonnie ordered, "cover that window." She gestured to the floor-to-ceilings near the fireplace and _Johnny_ headed for the living room. So Clem wasn't over there. No, she would have taken the high ground. I forced myself not to look up, not to give Carver any ideas. No, I kept my head down, stared at the floor beneath me. Until his boots came into view. I looked up, wincing as my hands chafed inside the zip-ties.

"Where are they?" Carver demanded, his countenance so dark it was as though he were in character, not the same man I sat by the fire with. But I was not in on the charade, and so I could only guess that part he _wanted _me to play. I felt Carlos' eyes on mine, begging me to stay silent. It was unnecessary – no force on earth could compel me to give Clementine over. I trusted Carver with _my_ life, but not hers.

"I don't know," I replied hoarsely, and he said nothing. Instead, he reached down, grabbing Carlos by the arm and dragging him to the center of the room, standing him on his feet and punching him in the stomach. Carlos grunted in pain, buckling to all fours. I heard a crack of unknown origin, and Sarah cried out, fighting her bonds.

"Listen," Carver threatened, addressing us. "I'm only gonna ask you once. Where's Rebecca?"

"Sarah," Carlos rasped, pressing his hands to his thighs. "Look at me... it's gonna be okay. Agh!" Carver grabbed him by the hair, making him reach up, and when he did, Carver took his right hand in his own and without hesitation, snapped his middle finger back. Carlos howled in pain and Sarah screamed.

"Rebecca!" Carver shouted. "Our baby deserves to be raised in a place of safety. I know you're out there. And Alvin, and Luke, and the girl."

I felt sick, but it wasn't good enough. I couldn't look at Carlos. He was nothing to me.

"This is real simple," Carver continued. "You want this over quick, you all play nice and show your faces."

"Don't hurt my dad!" Sarah cried out, squirming like a stuck pig. "Please!"

But Carver was unmoved. He waited a few more seconds, seconds I pictured Clem and the rest of the group hiding somewhere above us, trying to decide what to do, and then he broke another of Carlos' fingers. The screams echoed to the highest beams.

"F-fuck you," Carlos breathed angrily, staring weakly up at him. "Shoot him! Somebody just shoot him!"

Carver withdrew a knife and put it to Carlos' throat, halting his words there. I stilled. The air in the room shifted. No, not metaphorically. I felt the hairs on my neck stand up. A draft – someone had opened a window. Only the windows on the second floor opened. _Clem. _If she'd gone it would be to find someone, which meant there was at least one group member not in the lodge. And if Clem was gone, she was out of Carver's reach for now. I felt no qualms about it – I met Carver's eyes and pointedly looked up.

I saw the knife loosen against Carlos' neck and I nodded, craning my neck toward the balcony. Carver snarled, dropping Carlos to his side and gesturing to Bonnie, who disappeared up the stairs and soon after escorted Rebecca and Alvin down. Carver went to her, pressing his hand to her cheek and smiling in a way I'd never seen.

"Fuck you, Bill," she spat, but nothing could damper that smile, even as Rebecca took her seat with us.

Except maybe Johnny crumpling, his rifle lost at his side, dead before he hit the floor. The window didn't even shatter, it was such a clean shot. But Carver would trade lives like pawns in a chess game. And though he thought of his group as his flock, as his family, there were two among us no more friend to him than strangers. Perhaps it was better he chose Walter over Sarita. Kenny's rage, I feared, would have gotten us all killed then.

"Now here's what's gonna happen," Carver ordained. "I'm gonna march another one of your friends out here and I'm gonna put a bullet in the back of their head. Or you can give up now. Your choice."

Another shot rang out, and I saw the column splinter near Carver's head. Carver paced back to us, grabbing Alvin by the lapel and pulling him up. It was enough. Kenny was no man of reason but Clementine must have convinced him. It was only logical – eventually Carver would run out of people to shoot, and would end up on Sarita.

Bonnie escorted them through the glass doors, Troy bound them at the wrists, and they joined us on their knees. All of us but Rebecca. Rebecca stood, and I knew it was because Carver would never be seen to be cruel to her. Clem spotted me and I saw her breath hitch. It hadn't occurred to me that I'd been gone from them as long as I had. Or that soon enough, it would require an explanation. And I cursed myself for continuing to scheme and plan and think strategically. I felt inhuman, cold, though the burn inside my eyelids professed otherwise. I had accepted this for myself. But I could not maintain clarity with Clem now wrapped up in Carver's web. Attempting to separate my interests and hers was like asking the heart to work when cleaved in two.

"Where's Luke?" Carver snapped, jolting us back. "Finally cut and run, huh? Why am I not surprised? I warned you," he approached Carlos, thrusting a finger in his face. "I warned you not to follow him. Look where he's led you. But you're safe now. We're going home. As a family."

Sarah whimpered, and Carver's surviving men circled us like vultures, snatching us up one by one to begin the long trek back to camp. I felt the blood dripping from my wrists, warm and familiar.


End file.
